Whiskey Punch
by cyrilandshirley
Summary: The Walker story, with a few twists.
1. Chapter 1: Remember Me?

****I have NO idea why I wrote this, or where it's going. I was just re-watching some old Brendan/Walker and felt like playing with canon.

**Whiskey Punch**

**Part 1: Remember Me?**

_Walker_

It was when I saw those kids knock the bags out of her hands that I knew I was going to be a hero. My destiny, if you like. If you believe in destiny. I think you make your own, truthfully. Take responsibility for your own actions. Surprising how few people seem to agree with that. Which is why I made it my mission to open their eyes.

I'd only just got off the damn bus and walked into the village, and there she was. Scrabbling round on the ground trying to save what was left of her shopping while the kids disappeared round the corner, barking like chimps. Legged it fast enough when they saw me, anyway. People do. If I want them to. I bent down, gave the lady a hand. Scrappy little bit, dark hair, tight figure, nothing of her really.

"You all right?"

She looked at me. Something switched in her eyes.

"I am now." Stood up. "I'm Cindy. And who might you be?" No messing about. Her hand was on its way to mine. When another one got in the way.

"We don't need any introductions, do we Cind? I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch your name …?" Big girl, tall, impressive if you like that kind of thing. Extending a hand. So. Turns out the bitty thing wasn't the person I'd come to save after all.

"Walker." I said. I always use that. It saves on the detail. Which can be … hazy. Shook her hand, smiled. Considered that they might be useful. Turned it on, full wattage. "You two are the first friendly faces I've seen all day."

Never fails.

"Yes, we are _very_ friendly," the second bird says, but she doesn't seem too friendly to little Cindy right now. I think she's standing on one of her feet. I decided to beat a retreat, let them fight it out. I still needed to get my bearings, work out who I was dealing with. And I like to know who I'm dealing with. It always pays to do your homework, kids.

"Ladies … got an appointment." I inclined my head, got ready to withdraw.

"Sorry," the tall bird says, "course you do …"

She tailed off while I turned my back and bent over to pick up my bag. I was pretty sure I was being checked out, if the expression on their faces when I stood back up was anything to go by. If you've been the kind of places I've been, you know when someone's checking out your ass.

"Will we be seeing you again?" the tall bird asks me. But the bitty one interrupts.

"Why don't you call into the coffee shop later today, it's … um … it's my treat." She almost looked bashful, the flirt. "You know, just a thank you for coming to my rescue." She waved a dismissive hand, like it was nothing. It sounded like the kind of invitation I'd never turn down.

"Well, I'll see you both later," I said. But it was the tall bird I was looking at. I was pretty sure she was what I'd come for. To start with, anyways.

"OK," I heard her whisper, and I knew I had her. I could hear them sticking pins into each other over me as I headed off.

"Oh, it's ON!" one of them hissed.

I couldn't resist a smile. Oh yeah. It was definitely on.

The corner shop was my first stop. They know pretty much everything, don't they? Everyone goes in, some time. I fixed myself up with some mints. Might come in handy later, you never know. Gotta keep the breath fresh.

"That the local club up there?" I asked the woman serving. I'd clocked it on my way past, of course. Just needed to be sure. Bit of a barn, one entry at street level, fire escape up to another door off a balcony. Always good to know where your fire escapes are. Your entrances and exits. Never know when you might need them. Didn't look like much. I'd been surprised. Disappointed, really. I'd expected more.

"Chez Chez," she said, handing me my change. "That's right."

Christ, what a name.

"Run by the Bradys isn't it?" I asked her, casual.

"Know them, do you?" She was just a bit cagey, to be honest. But she'd still told me what I wanted to know, without even meaning to. I shrugged, smiled, retreated.

"Heard about 'em, that's all."

Her eyebrows raised. "Most people have. Him, anyway."

So, bit of a rep, then. I smiled again. I smile a lot. And I took my Trebor extra strong and went for a walk. Did a recky of the place. Seriously, nothing of it. Some shops, bus stop where I'd just been dumped, pub round the corner, college on one side and a road out to an estate on the other. Everything pretty much as expected. A few flats above the shops, behind barred railings. They were interesting. The whole sweep took about twenty minutes, and that included a pint in the Dog. But I also had calls to make. Facts to check. Stories to verify. Time to kill. Just to let things settle and simmer. Just to leave it the right amount of time before I turned up again in the coffee shop.

I checked the place out as I came in. The tall one was there, in one of the sofas. I kept her in view as I went over to the counter. Doesn't do to be ambushed from behind. I couldn't see the other one anywhere, the bitty one, Cindy, but there was someone down behind there doing god knows what and by the squeaking it sounded like her. I leant over and she popped up like a rabbit.

"Oh … you just keep turning up." She was breathless. "What tickles your fancy?"

Flirtation. I don't like to disappoint.

"Short and sharp normally does it for me."

I swear her eyes nearly popped out. She was all eyes, that one. The tall bird was all mouth. Both good looking, in their own way. I guess it depends what grabs you.

"Double espresso?" she asked me.

"Perfect."

"I think I can manage that."

She was practically purring like a cat. Came out from behind bar, dragged me over to one of the sofas.

"Tell you what, why don't you get yourself comfy and I'll bring it over." As we passed, I couldn't help but notice that the tall one looked up, clocked me. Interested. Interesting. "Oh, and I'd avoid that one if I were you," Cindy said, manhandling me into a seat. "Cheryl Brady's more of a long and flat kind of girl."

So that took any doubt out of it then. A name. I watched Cindy sashay over to the tall one, all pert bum and gloating. I listened, hard, from behind my coffee cup. Cheryl's body was slumped, talked its own language. Disappointment. She was saying something about this being a real chance for her. Sounded like an opening. I got up and went over.

"Excuse me." But Cindy's hand was on my chest.

"Sorry, I'm not interested," she said. So I guess she'd found a conscience down the back of that counter or something. But I don't need anyone to pass me round like seconds.

"It was Cheryl I was after," I said.

She looked uncomfortable under my gaze, Miss Cheryl Brady. I only knew that Cindy had retreated. Knew when she was beaten, anyway. I turned it on again. But careful. Gently does it.

"I was hoping I was going to get lucky … seeing you," I said, and got rewarded by a smile, biting her lip like a girl. "Drink. Tomorrow." And I didn't need to ask twice.

"Yeah … yeah! Yes!" Her face lit up. But then, " … no." Her face fell. That wasn't supposed to happen. "No, I can't. I'm going back to Ireland, I won't be back til Tuesday, so maybe I should just …"

Also interesting. A setback, maybe. But Cindy reappeared, stuck the order pad right down in front of her, with a pen. Subtle.

"Excuse me for just one second …" she sat forward, and wrote on the pad, eyes cast down, then tore it off and held it out, nervous. "My phone number."

I looked at it and swallowed down the last of the coffee, dark and bitter. I smiled. Held eye contact. Slid the number into my pocket. And left them without another word to their squealing, or whatever girls do in these circumstances.

And it's so easy. So, so easy. If only all of life could be that easy, that manipulable.

But the next one wouldn't be. I wasn't kidding myself about that.

Getting in to the club wasn't a problem. I knew that's where he'd come. Where he hung. It reeked of him, the place, outside and in. His spirit hung around it, vile. I used a trick I know to let myself in the street door and pulled it to behind me. Listened out for voices, movement, but there was nothing. It was empty, hollow. Just fetid, stale air, the smell of old beer and long gone parties. I climbed the stairs to where the offices were. Oh yeah, it smelt of him, the black leather sofas, all of it. His DNA ran through the neon green bar light. I flopped down on one of the sofas. And I waited. Let my head fall backwards onto the back of the sofa. Let my eyes close. My breathing became a soft hiss through my nose as I meditated on what was to come. Let his face appear in front of me. Imagined his presence. And I have no idea how long it took. Could have been over an hour. But it was like I willed him into existence. I did, me. Pulling the strings.

I heard him coming up from below. Talking big to some lad in that Dublin rumble of a voice, half kiss, half punch, where a bloke hardly knows if he's having his knickers charmed off, or the piss extracted, and probably both. Giving the lad some blarney about his girlfriend, all boys together. Sweet. I heard the kid retreat and leave, laughing, clownish. And I felt him start to emerge. Felt, rather than saw. Heard. Sensed, in every part of my body, even with my eyes closed. Christ, he even belched on the way up from that place down there where he belongs.

"Remember, knock her off her pretty little feet!" he was calling back down the stairs. How very macho.

Then I heard his footsteps stop. Got your attention, have I? And I lifted my head.

"Remember me?" I asked him. Gave him a smile.

There was a pause. Then, "Huh," he said, from under the world's least heterosexual facial hair. His mouth twitched beneath it. And there he was.

The one and only.

Brendan Brady.

* * *

_Brendan_

Brendan's phone, as he pulled on his jacket that morning, just wouldn't stop fucking ringing. Ring ring, ring ring, ring ring, like a nagging wife, and Christ knows, Eileen had been a pain at times. His head was still just about in one piece this morning, which was a miracle, because it had been a damn heavy night. But it took a lot to fell him, there was more of him than the other guy to soak up the percentages, and he felt fine. As fine as he ever did these days, anyway, when all days were basically the same. Boring, tedious, the club, money, deals, the occasional foray into the dark. Or the fairly frequent foray into the dark, these days, but it still bored him. Except yesterday.

Yesterday had been different. Well mostly, it had been shit. He'd taken Joel to a bar for the afternoon to beat him at pool. Partly to show him he was forgiven for his latest fuck up, but mainly to distract himself from some crap going on in the deli opposite the club. Which shows how desperate he'd got. But then someone else had turned up to play. Yesterday had taken on a whole new meaning. And now, yesterday was calling him with an insistence that was drilling into his skull. He terminated the call without picking up. He needed time to think.

He looked up as Joel came into the flat with a smile that set his teeth on edge. Jesus wept, what had he been thinking when he took that lad in? He wasn't a bad kid really, Joel, but on the other hand, he didn't have much to recommend him either. He certainly hadn't asked him for his sparkling conversation. He filled a space, Brendan thought, without enthusiasm. A space left by the teenage son, increasingly surly, that he almost never saw now. Hadn't done since early that year. It had all been going so well, as well. It had all come out, his big secret, not the way he wanted it, and way too late, but it had all come out, and all that had happened was his son had put his arms around him. Accepting. Accepting in a way he rarely experienced. It had felt like a door opening. A sense of weird peace.

Then he'd got banged up for something he hadn't done, and that door had slammed shut again, right in his face.

He was no angel. He'd never pretended otherwise, never hidden it. He'd hidden a whole bunch of other things, but not that. Everyone knew what he was. A bastard. A chancer, a user. But not that. Not a murderer. Or not that kind of murderer, girls and women, the weak and unprotected, murdering for kicks. He would never. He'd never taken a life even until he'd come to this place. And when he did it was … well, it wasn't that. He'd done it to protect. Not that it mattered now anyway, it had been pretty pointless. At least the one who'd needed the protection was still alive. But it was in the past. Forgotten. Gone. Dead. Dead as a doornail. Dead as Danny Houston's bloated, floating corpse.

Rotting in prison for another guy's crimes had been his nightmare. Worse. It was his nightmare's worst nightmare. And it had changed him, he knew it, for all he still hid behind the tache, the front, the Brady name. Before he'd gone in, he'd been a bad man, yeah, but with a hold on life. A survivor's grip. The same instinct that had helped him do his eight times tables and not go mad. That kept him hanging on after the car crash when he was seventeen. He had wanted what life had to offer him, was hungry for it, the good stuff, couldn't stop himself going after it. Now, it was like he'd lost his desire for … everything. His sense of taste and smell. It wasn't being banged up in a cell twenty hours a day that had changed him, not that, he just read his Old Testament and taught himself lessons in righteous hatred. It wasn't even the nightly beatings. He had always known violence, from when he was just a kid himself. And he had always known he'd get his own back for it this time, one day, an eye for an eye, and once he's got out, he had. In spades. But not being believed. Not being believed by someone. Someone who had never come, never written. He had done some terrible things, he knew it. But how could he … anyone … believe he had done that? He had lain in his cell with the Bible on his chest, looking up to heaven, but it was like something had corroded his soul to nothing. Or someone.

Eileen had hardly helped. She'd kept the kids away. Didn't want them contaminated, apparently. And in a way, she'd been right. But it hadn't stopped Declan having it tough at school, at home on the estate. Your Dad's a serial killer. Freak, weirdo. All the things he would have travelled a million miles to protect his son from. Since he'd got out, his name cleared, Declan had been over to see him. Ran away to see him, in fact. But it wasn't what he expected. There were no arms around him. No acceptance. Just acting up, stupid stuff, trying to throw his weight around. Trying to be like his Da'. But punching above his weight, every time. And under it all, resentment, for putting them all through it. Eileen blamed him for that as well, he guessed. She blamed Brendan for pretty much fecking everything. She probably blamed him for the economic crisis and the price of Guinness, who knew? OK, in a former life he had fucked her nephew, and that was pretty bad. But she didn't know that.

Anyway, he had ended up sending Declan away. For his own good. He had sent everyone away. Everyone except Cheryl, and Lynsey, the mate who'd always been there. Standing up for family ran through Cheryl's bloodstream, for all she bitched about it. And to be fair, the main reason he was in that fucking hole in the first place was because he'd been trying to protect Lynsey. But they were the only two people from outside who had stood by him.

Beyond them, there was no one else. No one that mattered. So he'd had a brainstorm one night a couple of months back and asked Joel to stay, and let him into his home, to fill the empty space, make some noise, drown out the silence with his inane mutterings. To this day, he had no idea if he was fond of the lad, or despised him. Come to think of it, he had no idea if the lad admired him, or hated his guts. A bit of both, he suspected. Mostly, he just longed for a parent's approval, and Brendan knew all about that. Recently, Joel had been not much more than a pain in the butt, dealing to snotty little underagers in the club while Brendan was sorting supplies in Barcelona, nearly losing him his damn licence. And other misdemeanours. He'd pushed someone around he should never have touched a hair of. Brendan had lost it with him. For a while, he had done nothing but punish him. But Joel had done his penance, taken it like a man. And now an uneasy peace reigned between them, the guy who couldn't be a Dad, and the kid who wanted one more than anything.

"D'ye have a late night last night?" Joel asked him, sat right at home on Brendan's sofa, a motor trade rag open in front of him, his eyes eating it up, speculative, his fingers flicking his door keys to Brendan's door.

"Not really."

"Just never heard you come in," Joel said, sounding amused. Brendan often spent the night out, these days. Anything was better than going back to that empty bed. Anyway, he liked to screw. I screw, you screw, we all screw. It kept the world kept turning.

"What are you, my mammy?" he asked him.

Joel glanced at him, smirked. "Oh aye, I was up all night worrying about you."

"Sweet."

Brendan was interrupted by the nagging phone again, in his jacket pocket. He took it out and glanced at the screen. Yesterday was calling again.

"So, getting the bus starting to cramp your style with the ladies?" he asked Joel, to change the subject.

"I wouldn't know, would ah?" Joel said, resentment soft in his voice. Mary, Mother of God, trouble between him and his McQueen girl again. Brendan felt a twist of relief that he had no one to yank his chain like that. And yet strangely empty.

"You're better off alone, kid. Passengers only slow you down."

"Maybe," Joel replied. But he didn't look wholly convinced by the delights of solitude. Brendan wondered if he was himself, really. Maybe he hadn't sounded that convincing. But he didn't have time for contemplation. He needed to check out yesterday's intrusion on his peace. Deal with it. Usually he had no problem getting rid of last night's company. He just made it clear there would be no repeats, and they dressed and left. But this time, yesterday had gone nowhere. He had made sure of that. This one really was different. He just wasn't sure how, right now.

At the club, Brendan unlocked the office door and swung it open, then wandered back into the bar. He shrugged off his jacket and surveyed the signs of last night's whiskey binge. It had been a real bender. They had got hammered. Talked about the past they shared. Toasted freedom, in all its grim grey glory. Played stupid drinking games. Passed out a few times. Then woken up and started again. There had been talk of cocktails, but Brendan had had enough of mixing cocktails recently to last him a lifetime, so they took it straight, and neat, and hard. The closed sign had stayed up on the club. The only music playing had been for them. Brendan hardly cared about that club, these days. He had other ways of making money. He was sure it had been buzzing once, but when he looked around it now, he felt nothing but disgust. It was a ball and chain. He kept it more out of habit than anything else.

Behind him he heard the shuffling sound of steps, dragging, a bit unsteady. He turned around.

"Nice place you got here." Walker looked rough, and sounded worse. Held his tall lanky frame carefully, squinting through half-open eyes from the office doorway, his bag and jacket slung across his shoulder.

"Haven't we done this before?" Brendan asked him, sarcastic. He had inducted Walker into the delights of club ownership when they had been half way through their second bottle of Jamesons.

"Did we?"

"Yeah."

"Bit out of practice," Walker slurred, sleepy, dry-mouthed, bumping awkwardly out of the door. So he was really carrying a belter of a hangover, then. Funny, a few times the night before, Brendan had wondered if Walker was acting just a little bit drunker than he really was, falling off the sofa and laughing like a hyena. The thought that Walker had taken some punishment gave him some satisfaction.

"I guess so," Brendan answered, neutral. He wanted him gone, really. But Walker had already moved towards one of the sofas, dropping a battered bag on one side and sinking down beside it with strange angular grace.

"There's one thing that prison lacked," he was saying. "Decent boozer."

Ah. Prison. Brendan sat down on sofa opposite. The vision of Walker, pale and strange in front of him, was giving him flashbacks of a time he wanted to do nothing but forget.

"That your gear?" he asked him, gesturing to the bag.

Walker stretched lazily, one arm behind his head, flexing. Laughed, teasing, but mirthless.

"All my worldly possessions."

"Good," Brendan told him. Then pointed. "There's the door. Use it."

There was something about Walker that unnerved him. When Brendan thought about it, last night had been the first time he'd been out on the razz in a long time without looking for a casual fuck. He didn't really do socializing. He had let the guy stay, for old time's sake, but it had been a one-off. It was always a one-off.

"Just like that?" Walker asked him. He looked only slightly put out. Like he'd been expecting it. Barriers.

"Just like that."

"So … you forced me to get drunk," Walker started, a tease in his voice. "You locked me in your office. And now you're just gonna … kick me out." He put his head on one side. "Gotta say Brendan, I feel used here mate."

Brendan pondered this. As far as he recalled, nothing had been done the night before that wasn't wholly consensual.

"It was special for me too," he said, keeping eye contact.

Walker laughed, showing rows of white teeth. He had an interesting mouth. Then leant forward, intimate, and ran a hand through his hair.

"Er … you're forgetting something."

Brendan matched him movement for movement, leaning in.

"Did I promise you a continental breakfast? I do that sometimes when I'm drunk."

Walker laughed again. He'd always been a good audience.

"No."

"No?"

"Nah …" he started, and paused. Then began again. "After what happened … in prison …"

"Go on."

" … you owe me," Walker finished. And smiled. Like a cat, Brendan thought. One with a mouse right between its paws.

"Huh," Brendan said, as his phone went off again. Ring ring. Ring ring.

Check.

* * *

Down in the village, Brendan handed Walker a roll of notes. After all, he did owe him. Tucked them into the pocket of his army surplus jacket, gave his shoulder a pat.

"For the cab," he said. "Don't forget to leave a tip."

Back in the club, he had fronted it out.

"What do you want, Walker?"

A shrug. That same smile. "Just a bed for the night." That same come-on, that wasn't a come-on. Unless it was. Then softer. "A place to crash, you know, til I get myself fixed."

"Can't do it, Walker. The flat's full. Cheryl, Lynsey, Joel." Yeah, his life was just full of love and laughter. No room to swing a pussy cat.

"But … Cheryl's away though."

Brendan bridled for a second, but kept his voice level. Family business was just that. "Where did you hear that?"

That same smile. Eye contact that never wavered, though the fair lashes flickered for a millisecond. "From you. Last night, remember?"

Brendan shook his head. But grinned, baring his teeth. "I don't remember much of last night."

"Pity," Walker said. A hint of a pout. Then a change of tack. A deep breath. "Can't blame a guy for trying, though."

"No," Brendan said, meeting his gaze. "God loves a trier." Then stood up. "I'll brew us a coffee."

Walker tilted his chin up, following the movement. "That'd be nice."

"And then I'll walk ye out." The emphasis was on the word "out."

There was a pause. Then a strategic retreat. "Sure, I understand," Walker said, nodding.

"It's just … Cheryl. You know."

"Sure, Cheryl. I get it."

"Do you have a sister, Walker?" Brendan asked him, looking down. He realized for all the inmate palare they'd exchanged, he had no idea. Prison was a different world. There was there, and here was here. They didn't connect. It's what outsiders never understood. It was a different country. Different rules.

For a second, a shadow seemed to cross Walker's face. His eyes disappeared behind those lashes again, hooded. He shook his head. "No. No sisters."

Brendan nodded. Raised his eyebrows. "If you did, you'd get it. Believe me."

Because he adored her, god knows. But recently, she'd been driving him mental. Since Declan, all she'd done was bang on about some course she'd enrolled on and leave him to do all the real work. God, he was good at this. He almost persuaded himself. This was all down to Cheryl. If she came home and found an ex-con sitting at her kitchen table, her head would probably explode. It was more than his life was worth.

So down in the village, they waited for the taxi, side by side. An almost easy silence between them, now that Brendan knew he was on his way. Walker broke it.

"What happened to that guy who was having you beaten up?"

Prison again. The thing that linked them. Brendan stepped closer to him, confessional.

"You ever see that film, Trading Places?"

Walker got the reference.

"He's inside?"

"And people say there is no god." Brendan crossed himself. Walker laughed. For a second, Brendan remembered why he'd been able to tolerate this guy's company. After a pause, Walker carried on. Quiet, conversational.

"My case was dropped. Witness withdrew their statement." He turned to look at Brendan. "Divine intervention too, perhaps."

His eyes held Brendan's. Brendan knew full well that it lasted longer than it strictly should. Walker's face was full of that shared understanding. Something no one else understood. Just them.

"Perhaps." Brendan said. The moment felt charged, in a way he never meant. Then Walker broke eye contact, suddenly crouching down to get something from his bag.

"I almost forgot," he said, straightening up again and holding something out to Brendan. "Thanks for leaving it with me." It was a chess set. The one Lynsey had given him inside. The one with the note, that had told him not to seek revenge. He'd taken that out before he'd left it with Walker. He wasn't sure it was the best advice, anyway. He'd had his, and it had been sweet as a strawberry milkshake. You just had to learn to bide your time.

"Keep it," Brendan said. He had no need for it out here, and no desire to remember in there. And anyway, who would he play with? Joel? The guy couldn't even get his head round the rules for snakes and ladders. But Walker insisted.

"It's yours. Besides, without an opponent it's not much use to me."

Fair point, Brendan thought. It seemed like they were both lacking a worthy opponent.

"Yeah," he said. "OK."

And silence fell again as he held it in his hand, waiting for the car to arrive. Then Walker spoke again. And he was almost a different guy. His voice was uncertain.

"You know when you got out, did you ever just wanna run?" he asked Brendan.

Brendan recognized the fear in him. He knew it. Coming out had terrified him. In every sense.

"Only the weak run," he said. Knowing he had run, over and over, and it had got him precisely nowhere. Now, he stood his ground. The taxi appeared around the corner and came to a halt.

"You take care of yourself, mate," Walker said. His voice unexpectedly soft. Mate. Just a figure of speech. Brendan didn't have mates. Mainly, people hated him. He hadn't had a mate since … Christ. Peter? Malachy? Mates never ended well.

"See ye," Brendan said.

And he turned and walked away without looking back once.

Checkmate.

* * *

Back in the club, Brendan attempted to enjoy a quiet whiskey and the satisfaction of his own company. An attempt that was foiled by one of the McQueen women, the one with the pink hair and the voice that would shatter concrete. At the next seat at the bar, no matter how much he tried to screen it out, she was banging on to some lump of a boyfriend on the phone. Finally, thankfully, she seemed to get cut off. Thank Christ, Brendan thought. But before he knew it, she was talking to him.

"Do you even feel like you're going nowhere in life, right?" she asked, in an imitation of philosophy. "And then a blast from the past comes up and smacks you in the face?" He gave her no encouragement, staring into his drink, but she sidled up closer. He gritted his teeth, tight. "It's just, my ex reaching out for help. Cos my ex, Sam, he's in a band, and they're gonna be huge, all thanks to me, I got them where they are now." Brendan downed the whole whiskey as she spoke, the liquid burning his throat, ice banging against his teeth. But there was no stopping her. "It's what you do though, innit. When someone asks you for help, you just give it 'em. D'yer know what I mean?"

Brendan barely managed a grunt in return. But she just slid off her seat, undeterred. And was gone, with a cheery "See yer!" God, he hated her. Loud. Annoying. And probably fucking right. This is what normal people did, right? Helped each other. Even when that person wasn't family. Just to do the right thing. And he ached, sometimes, for a bit of that. Normality. With a strange feeling in his gut that ran counter to his every instinct, he reached for his phone, and dialed. A voice responded.

"Walker," Brendan said. "Tell the driver to turn around."

He didn't even wait for a reply, just cut off the call. Yeah, he really hated that girl.

* * *

The chess pieces sat scattered on the table in front of him, where he'd tipped them. Sat there in the empty flat alone, in the evening light, waiting, he finally remembered to check his phone for the pesterer from before. Joel. Some message about having found a car he wanted, could Brendan call him back right away. It was from hours ago. Brendan realized with a dull sense of inevitability that he'd managed to let Joel down, again. Like he always did. Like he always would, until the lad realized it, and started hating him for real, and left. He looked idly through the chess pieces, picking out the white castle, turning it between his fingers. There was a knock at the door. Walker. With his baggage.

Brendan looked up as Walker let himself in through the door, left unlocked for him.

"This is just until you get back on your feet," Brendan drawled. He didn't want Walker getting ideas. But he seemed appropriately grateful.

"If you're worried, then don't be," Walker said. "I'm not here to cause you any trouble."

But everyone is always trouble, Brendan thought. Always.

"Yeah," he said, and got up, slowly, to lead the way to bedroom. His bedroom. He could hardly have the guy sleeping in Cheryl's, he looked like he hadn't changed clothes since 1995.

Brendan pushed the door open and flicked on the switch to the lamp, casting a dim light.

"Make yourself at home," he said, without actually sounding like he meant it, and left him to unpack. Retreating to the living room to pour himself another drink and contemplate this act of insanity, he wandered back twenty minutes later when Walker hadn't reemerged. The guy was just sat on the bed, Brendan's bed, with his back to the door. He didn't seem to have moved since Brendan had left. The line of his shoulders looked unsure. Lost, maybe. He hadn't even taken that bloody coat off, Brendan noticed. Zipped up to the chin, as if he was hiding inside it.

"You comfortable?" Brendan asked, with a sense of irony. He looked like a cat on a hot tin roof.

Walker looked up. "Anything's better than my last address." Then he seemed to hesitate. Lost the front. "Thank you. Couldn't afford an 'otel."

Brendan had left the chess set on the bed. Walker looked down at it. Laughed, grim.

"Never did manage to beat you," he said. And looked at him.

Brendan felt himself drawn closer. He picked the box up off bed.

"The first few nights, I couldn't sleep," he said. "I missed the bars at my windows, of all things. "

Walker smiled at that. Seems like it had struck a chord. Prison is hell. But the world outside is a dangerous place. It felt dangerous now, Brendan thought.

"Why did you call me back?" Walker asked. His voice was soft.

Brendan considered it. He wasn't sure he knew himself. He put his hand into the box and pulled out the white castle again.

"Now this," he said, sitting down on the bed alongside his unexpected arrival, "this was always my favourite piece. A king is nothing without his castle." It might seem like no answer. But it was the nearest he could get.

He knew Walker was looking down at him turning it round in his fingers. When he spoke, it was considered.

"A castle has walls, right?" Walker said. "So no one can get in?" Brendan knew he was looking for eye contact. Again, he looked back. He could face down most people, but his eyelids twitched under Walker's scrutiny. His smile, just small, but inviting confidence. Showing that he got it.

"Sleep tight, won't ye?" Brendan said, getting up, suddenly, and walking towards the door.

Once he got there, he hesitated, for a second. Then he left, pulling the door closed behind him with a soft click.


	2. Chapter 2: The Real Brendan Brady

_Big thank you to Guests 1 and 2, and Ginafisch, for reviewing this. I was a bit down last week when I realised not many people wanted it, and I was tempted to press delete and run away. But then I realised I was being a daft cow. I've had a real laugh writing it, and I'm glad if anyone wants to share it! So LET'S DO THIS THING. In the words of Emmett and Neil, what could possibly go wrong? _

_To answer a couple of questions:_

_Guest 2: yes, this will diverge from canon, in little and bigger ways. Not sure how or when yet ..._

_Ginafisch: Yes, that's exactly what made the Walker story for me - he gave Brendan/Emmett an injection of energy he hadn't had for a long time. The story had some iffy bits, but mainly, I LOVED it. : )_

**Whiskey Punch**

**Part 2: The Real Brendan Brady**

_Walker_

So, interesting, right? To this day, I have no clue why Brady called me back, but it made life a hell of a lot easier for sure. I'd have found another way, but this … well, maybe it really was divine intervention. I even got to sleep in the dragon's lair. Not that it told me much about him, really. It was dark, mostly black, even the sheets. Masculine, but anonymous. The only personal touches in the flat were down to Cheryl, looked like. There was a snap of them together on the fridge, siblings, her kissing him, larking about. Close. But his room was a symphony in emptiness, though there was something about it which reeked of old encounters. Personally, I got to sleep alone. Not even a bedtime story, though I wondered for one second if he was tempted to tuck me in, that last second before he shut the door on me. Which was also interesting. If the sight of the lad Joel on the sofa next morning was anything to go by, Brendan had taken his room, also alone. Joel looked none too happy about it. But it was working out just fine for me. And it was about to get more interesting. I was just enjoying tucking into Brendan Brady's toast when the front door opened.

"Hi, I'm home!" Cheryl, back from the mother country. "Oh!" she said, freezing when she saw me, confused. Pleased. "Fancy seeing you here!" I gave her a smile.

She sat down, in amazement. I could hear Brendan moving around in the kitchen behind me. She looked from me to him and back. "So you two are … ?"

"Old acquaintances," I said. "Yeah. Seems like it." I tried to imply it was a surprise to me as well. What are the chances, eh?

"So why didn't you tell me you knew my brother?" She was smiling, bemused.

Said brother was still prowling round, uneasy at the new development. I knew he was listening. This had to sound right.

"Um … didn't occur to me you two were related?"

"What, like every Chester village is just overflowing with Irish people?" she said, laughing. Her brother echoed it from behind, grim, cynical, but she ignored it. I expect she'd spent a lot of time ignoring what Brendan Brady got up to. "So … how do you two know each other?"

But turns out Brendan was in no mood for an adorable family chat. I doubted somehow that he'd told his sister much of what he got up to inside.

"Wow," he said, oozing irritation. "Well, as touching as this whole catch up is, I do have a club to run." I found my jacket chucked at my chest, direct. "Let's go." It sounded like it came from between gritted teeth.

I got up, excusing myself and following Brendan out of the door, knowing Cheryl was watching. Smitten, though I say so myself. So, that went well.

"D'ye want me tae come?" Joel called out, from the stairs.

"Clean up," Brendan shot back at him, sweeping out of the flat. And the guy just blew up.

"Oh, and how was mah bed, Brendan?" he yelled, after the boss's retreating back. "Did ye sleep well?"

I took a good look back at him as I left. He was practically spitting with rage. What was that about? Didn't like being abandoned by daddy? Wanted to play with the Big Boys? Some people are so easy to read. Most people, really. And when you can read them, they're so much easier to deal with.

I was in pretty high spirits, personally. For all Brendan's bitching at me having Cheryl's tongue hanging out, I honestly thought I had it all sewn up here, feet under the table. It was only when we were almost at the steps down to the street that I felt his hands on me. I was half way over the railings before I knew it, dangling backwards over twenty feet of vacant space like an idiot, while he gripped my coat in one fist. My mind turned over fast. This had to be about her. Didn't it?

"I swear to God I didn't know she was your sister!" I shouted at him. And bingo, it had to be right, because it just seemed to push him further over the edge, and me. He shook me, his eyes crazy. "Look, my entire life is in my bag!" I tried again, gasping for air, "Do you think she's gonna be interested in me?!"

"Stay away from her, OK?" He yelled. I nodded, feeling myself slip. Then found myself slung unceremoniously back onto the walkway. And for all I was fighting for breath, it was like the air had gone out of him. "Just … stay away from her." He panted. Christ. This whole Cheryl thing had obviously disturbed him way more than I thought. He started to walk away.

"You gonna tell her about how we met?" For some reason I felt a need to get a kick in when he was wounded. Prison. The whole memory of it seemed to haunt him. Me, walking back in, must be killing him. I'd thought a guy like him would take it in his stride. But he was disappearing down the steps now.

"I decide what people need to know," he said.

I watched him go, breathing hard to bring my pulse back down to normal. Straightened my jacket and my hair. Wow, that was a reaction. Got you rattled, son, I thought. But what was that all about, really? Protection? Some old fashioned Irish patriarchal shit? Control? Yeah, control. I followed him down the steps to the club, turning this over. So, this made things kind of … tricky, with Cheryl. But there were other ways. Other ways of getting close.

When we got to the club, I played it very soft. Just made myself useful. Whatever he wanted. Took out crates of empties, whatever. Let him calm down. After a while, I saw him take a coffee out onto the balcony. Left him there a few minutes, in peace. Then knocked the half open door, careful, and followed him out. He was just standing there, leaning against the railings, looking down at the village. Seemed to have got over his freakout, anyway.

"Brendan …" I started, "I was telling the truth about not knowing who Cheryl was."

He looked tired, actually. Shook his head. "Forget about it," he drawled. Turned his back on the village, or whatever it was that was keeping him in that poxy place. It was a mystery. I looked out at it.

"So, this is the Brady empire," I said.

"Yeah … if you like." He seemed calm. But distant, like a man on another planet. Planet Brady. Untouchable. Or so he thought.

I gave a dry laugh. It seemed to needle him. I turned to look at him, direct.

"Are you happy?" I asked him.

He raised his eyebrows. "Am I _happy_?" He repeated it back, like he didn't even understand the meaning of the word. "Really?"

I just smiled and nodded. "Yeah." He shrugged. Looked baffled. But here was something I could play with. He was bored. Unchallenged. Like a warship, stuck in calm water with his engines stalled. Something just told me that once … he'd wanted more than this.

"Well OK, I mean, you've got the club, and this … cosy terrace, but … I dunno, I thought a man like you would have so much more."

"What can I tell you?" he said, sounding weary, "I'm a modest man." He took a sip of his coffee.

"Is this all that you and that Warren fella were fighting over?" I asked him.

And I'm gonna admit here, it just didn't make sense. Every night in jail, this guy Warren Fox had Brady beaten up, because he wanted this club. And Brendan had dug his heels in, and endured it. Night, after night, after night. And he hated Warren. Hated him enough to want to kill him. Hated him enough to destroy his life once he got out. But for what? For this? A pathetic little dive on the edge of Chester? I just didn't buy it. What was he clinging onto, that meant so much?

Unfortunately, just when we were getting somewhere, the lad Joel came clanking up the steps, a face on him that was less of the Gay Gordons, more like a smacked backside.

"A smart man would think there was more to it than tha'," he said, surly, but just a little bit smug.

So there was more, something that pressed Brady's buttons. And he knew what it was. And he wanted me to know that he knew. The wily little scrote. Not such a numbskull as he first seemed, apparently.

"Joel, go restock the fridges." Brendan dismissed him. It struck me that he treated him like a servant. That he was always holding out on the kid, denying him what he really wanted. Approval.

"Ask one of the bar staff to do it." The kid was, as always, uncooperative.

Brendan turned to look directly at him. "I'm asking you. Please." The tone made it pretty clear it wasn't a polite request. But it did the trick. Joel's face fell from rebellious to sullen, and he pushed his way past me into the bar, reeking of mute dislike.

"Got him well trained," Brendan murmured to me, low. "You should see him fetch me slippers."

There was something weirdly confiding about it. Him and me, equals, against the lad. I smiled. And I got a reward for it. He grinned. Just for a second. Looked almost … human. The nearest he'd got to dropping his guard in forty-eight hours, even when he was plastered. But as soon as he showed a glimpse of it, it was gone. He disappeared inside without another word, leaving me out there, looking down on that village that was just a shop and a gym and a deli, trying to puzzle it the hell out. I wanted answers, but I wasn't getting them from the Glasgow ranger – I wouldn't show my hand to him if we were playing snap.

Which was when I saw Cheryl walking through the place on her way to the shop.

* * *

When she re-emerged, I'd taken up a position outside, leaning against a tree – nice and casual, but no way she'd miss me. As I came into her field of vision, she smiled. Her footsteps slowed.

"This is starting to become quite the habit," she said, coming to a stop in front of me. Her hand went to her hair, stroking it back from her face.

"I was spying on you," I said to her, and she laughed, gratified. Though at least it was truthful. Probably as truthful as I'd been since I arrived.

"Brendan let you off his wee leash, did he?" she asked me.

Brendan. I stood up straight, as if I'd just come to a decision.

"I met Brendan when were both on remand," I told her. You've got to give something to get something. And I needed something. But it was a gamble. I knew it wasn't what she wanted to hear, her white knight, the guy she'd pinned her hopes on, an ex-con. Sure enough, disappointment settled on her face, followed hot on the heels by something harder. Cynicism.

"Now why doesn't that surprise me," she said. If I'd taken a guess, I'd say she often associated her brother with disappointment. I adopted my best injured innocence face.

"The cops thought I was handling stolen goods, but I was cleared."

"Lucky you." She sounded sad. And unconvinced. I had some work to do, here.

"I would have told you," I said. Her eyes were suspicious. "But um …" I hesitated. "I'm really rusty at this." I held my hands up, awkward, laughing. And it was working. She smiled, thawing out, the warmth coming back into her eyes. And something else. Hope. I carried on. "You know, you're used to showering with a dozen other men … chat lines don't come out very easily."

She was laughing now. Playing with her hair again, a dead giveaway. Yeah, I think I had this one in the bag. And seeing as we were being so honest with each other, it was time for more confessions. Especially where her brother was concerned.

"Brendan doesn't want me talking to you," I told her, straight. Also true.

"So why _are_ you talking to me?" Her eyes were asking for a declaration. But I wasn't there yet.

"I don't want to come in between you two." I said. Direct. The loyal mate. "He's a good guy."

She nodded. "He is. He doesn't have many friends." She sounded concerned.

"How's he been?" I asked her, pushing gently.

"Different," she said. Then qualified. "He's always been a bit of a loner, but now he's … more so."

"Take it he's keeping a low profile, then?" I knew almost as soon as the words were out of my mouth that I'd overplayed it. Suspicion chased across her face again. She frowned.

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm fresh out," I improvised. "I'm curious as to … what to expect."

"Well then you need to talk to him," she said. And she was soft, but definite. Stronger than I'd seen her, than I thought she was. The Bradys closing ranks. Damn. But I smiled.

"I will."

"OK," she said, and her voice wasn't more than a whisper. "See you later."

She gave me the smallest of smiles. Not totally blown it, then. I held her gaze for just long enough. And when I walked away, I knew she was watching me go. Wondering. With good cause, when you think about it.

* * *

Sometimes, you really shouldn't turn your back. When I got to the club, Joel was in the process of restocking the bar with extra supplies of resentment. It rattled through every bottle he banged onto the shelves. It also amused me. I grabbed a bottle out of his hands on its way from the crate. After all, might as well enjoy some of the perks of being in with the owner. From the look on the kid's face, I'd say we'd progressed well past suspicion now and all the way to hate.

"I'll go and get some more cash," I said, a vague attempt both to pacify and enrage him. "Next round's on me, all right?"

I knew Brady had come in from the office behind. I could sense him, watching me. I turned around. Smiled. Lifted my bottle. But I got nothing back. Fuck me, what was on the guy's mind now? We'd been best mates when I left. Now, he walked over, no greeting, no smile. The guy's moods changed more often than his shirts. Everything he'd given me before, that flash of what was inside … shut down like a bankrupt store, windows boarded up. I knew right off that something had happened to break his trust. My mind ran over the options. Cheryl? Joel? Couldn't be Cheryl, because she'd been with me. Christ, this was a pain. I put the bottle down. Time to throw out another line.

"You know, I wasn't having a go before," I said to him. "If this is you then …" glancing around, "great."

"Thank you," he said. Heavy. Sarcastic. "I'm all tingly inside. Really."

Defences, always defences. I lowered my voice. It shut out Joel, completely, desperately trying to earwig behind us. It created a space where there was only Brady, and me.

"What if you could have more?" I said to him. There was a pause.

"What are you suggesting?" he asked.

Definite flicker of interest then, still. But just as I was getting close, Cheryl chose the same moment to come up the club stairs. She looked distracted. Was clutching something in a carrier bag, by the looks of it.

"All right, Chez?" There was easy intimacy between Brendan and his sister that I never saw with anyone else.

"Hi," she replied, but seemed withdrawn, awkward. Flickered a smile in my direction, but tense and gone as soon as it appeared. Turned back to Brendan. "Can I have a word … in private?"

"Yep." He turned to look at me. He didn't need any words. I was dismissed, then. My turn to be surplus to requirements.

I shrugged. "I just need to go and … wash my hands," I said, holding them up, and making a strategic retreat for the bathrooms. And like I said, it was a mistake. I should have kept an eye. But I underestimated her. By the time I got back, there was only Brendan in the place. No trace of Cheryl or Joel. The bag that had been in Cheryl's hands was sitting on the bar top. Brendan just handed it to me, wordless. I opened it. It was full of money. My money.

"Ah."

Yeah, it was mine. In a manner of speaking, anyway. I'd left it hidden in my bag under the bed back at the flat, but it seemed like Miss Cheryl Brady was a pretty nosey housekeeper. It had amused me, carrying round a plastic bag full of dodgy notes. Nothing makes you feel more like a proper low-rent gangster than that. And it had a purpose. But it hadn't been supposed to come into play yet. Bit late for regrets now.

Brady had his hands on me again, a full-scale attack now, my arm twisted up my back, sending pain stabbing into the shoulder socket, pushing me into the permanent semi-darkness of the office. I collided with the far wall, slamming against the bricks. Christ, he was strong, and quick. If he wanted you, you never had a chance really. While I was still rebounding, he grabbed me by the coat, turned me round, and had me pushed up against the wall, practically strangling me with my own jacket.

"That's an awful lot of money you've got there, Walker." He was right up in my face. I could smell his anger, taste it.

Ok, so I had to think fast. This plan needed to be accelerated. Fuck the timetable. It was happening. Now.

"OK," I fought for breath under the pressure of his hands, "I'm doing a deal tomorrow night." The only effect this seemed to have was to make him tighten his grip. I felt like my chest was bursting.

"Not really holding my attention here," he said, vicious.

"What do you care?" I spat back at him. This was no time for playing it softly.

I found myself released, dumped like a sack, pushed away from the wall, winded, bent. By the time I'd managed to get myself back up, the money was disappearing into the safe. The tight bastard. He thought of everything. I knew some people who really wouldn't be happy if I lost that money.

"Brendan, that's my money!" I scrabbled at him.

"Hey, hey!" He fought me off, and I braced myself for the punch that had to come, but he just held up a finger. "Not finished with you yet."

So the cash went into the safe, and Brendan left the office. Jesus Christ! That really hadn't been part of the plan, getting beaten up. But actually … I didn't mind a scrap. Spend a bit of time in the forces, you learn to live for the action. I laughed, buzzing. And really, when you thought about it … that didn't go so badly. That money had been to set up a deal. That was the official plan. Get Brady's trust. Then set up the deal. It was meant to be nice and slow. Friendly. A seduction, if you like. I don't like to get into bed with just anybody, I'm not that kind of guy. Well OK, my hand had been forced a bit. But I realized that money had served its purpose after all. Not totally what I intended, maybe, but just as effective.

Bait.

* * *

We sat opposite each other on the sofas in the bar. His arms stretched along the back of his, marking his territory. Here we go, I thought. A nice, civilized little chat, every word part of whatever game it was we were playing here. But I'm good at conversation, if that's what a guy wants. I've got great oral skills, so I've been told. I took an opening gambit.

"You're angry at me," I said, "I get that. But you can't keep my money."

"Tell me about this deal," he said. Definitely interested then. A pull, on the line. A tug, a nibble, a bite. Important not to reel in too soon, though.

"Client confidentiality," I said, stalling. "Strictly between me and my associates, I'm sorry."

He was unfazed. "These men," he asked," …are they serious?"

"Well," I sat forward, "you don't exactly want to upset them." And this was true. Because the guys I had in mind were nutters of the highest order.

"So, how they gonna feel when you turn up without their money?" he asked me, trying to shut me down. But it was an easy move to counter. I sent it back.

"I imagine they're not going to be the happiest of bunnies, holding a big bag of coke," I said, with my best sarcastic drawl. "And then I _imagine_ they're gonna come after me, and then I'm gonna tell them about _you_. And then I imagine they're gonna be very interested in the fact that _you've_ stolen their money."

His hand twitched. I knew I was getting through to him. He was getting the message. We were in this together now.

"I get that," he said, nodding. "I do."

I was getting tired of the games, to be honest. I decided to shift it up a gear. Shook off my jacket. If he wanted this, he was gonna have to make a move. "I'm not gonna wait forever Brendan," I said. "I'm not." My breathing came fast, agitated.

"How much do you stand to make?" He was still cool. I decided to play the eager bunny. Let him feel superior.

"Enough to take me out of here for a very long time."

Brendan smiled. And then just got up and walked out onto the balcony again. Christ. Had I landed him, or not? I joined him out there in the dark, wary. And he was just standing there again, looking out at … nothing. What was with him? He seemed like fucking Juliet or something, waiting to be found. But something told me he wouldn't respond well to that comparison.

"You look like Nero, standing by while his empire burns," I told him, still trying to get a rise. A response, anything. "Except his was bigger." I'm a funny guy. But he didn't laugh. He just didn't seem easy to reach, tonight.

"Looks ain't everything," he mumbled, unmoved.

"Is that so?" I said, turning to look at him. "Enlighten me."

He stared out into the evening. "If you're obvious," he said, talking slow, and quiet, "people take shots at you. I have two boys at home that are very very well looked after. You think I'm small time. That's good. That just means you see exactly what I want you to see. Small time." Right, so he was King of the World. But he seemed fucking miserable. It was written all over him. He looked away. Let out a slow breath.

"You want the world to think you're this big man," I said to him, "… but you're nothing." I needed him to be bigger than this. For me.

He laughed. For a second, he seemed almost insane, disturbed. "Don't push me, Walker." I started to wonder if the guy was completely out to lunch. What had sent him there. And what buttons I had to push to send him right over the edge, into the darkness below.

"What you gonna do, set your sister on me?" I shot back at him. Best I had, right now.

And finally, that got him. He faced up to me, close, backing me against the door frame. I could feel his breath.

"This is how this is gonna go down," he hissed. "I want in on the deal, and you, my friend, you're gonna make that happen." Funnily enough he didn't sound all that friendly. But this was going so well, I decided to push it just a little bit further.

"No," I said.

"No?"

"I would have asked you once," I told him. "But not now." Because this was meant to be done as mates. Friends, equals, compadres. I didn't want him thinking he'd forced his way in. He was in because I let him.

"I don't think you understand what I'm saying," he said. "See, you lied to me." And there was something in his voice. Something that betrayed him. Emotion. I looked at him, close. He looked … hurt. Actually hurt. He could be hurt. An idea formed in my brain. He'd actually wanted to trust me. Maybe he didn't even know it, but he did. A weakness. He needed someone. Fucking hell, I think I've got him. "You no longer have a choice," he was saying. "I'm in." He whispered it right into my mouth.

"Is this who you are?" I said, right back into that mouth, surrounded by dark stubble, the tache that he hides behind. "The real Brendan Brady?"

And then it occurred to me. There was no real Brendan Brady. Maybe there was, once, I'd give him that. Maybe there was a real person, with a real, beating heart, but then something happened. And now there was nothing there underneath the front, the fancy gangster façade, the suits and the bling and the tache. He was a hollow man. I think it, and he knows it. He's nothing. Not without me, anyway. It's me, baby. You need me.

Suddenly, he launched his face towards mine, and I lurched back, with a nervous laugh. For a second, I wondered if he could read my mind. But Christ, this was amazing. I was under his skin. I was buzzing. He seemed to scan my face. His mouth, very close. Felt for a second like he might … do something. I waited. I swear, the adrenalin was sending my pulse haywire, my pupils must have been shot to hell. But it didn't happen. He raised his eyebrows, expectant. I took a breath.

"Fine," I said. "I'll make a call." And moved out of his space and into the club, passing the kid Joel, hostile but redundant, on my way in.


	3. Chapter 3: Got to get your hands dirty

Hello, another slice, bit of a short one this week, sorry bout that. Thank you Guests 1 & 2, MissScots, Ginafisch and Jennzo for the feedback.

**Guest 2** - that's a really good question, who we're cheering for. I'm cheering for Brendan, but he was behaving like an arse at this time and needed someone to shake him up and show him what was important. Walker's a loon, but in a different life, with no grudges, I like to think they could have worked together brilliantly.

**Jennzo** - I think this will finish sooner than Walker's story did in the show, mainly cos I thought 99% of his return was rubbish, not worthy of him at all. Your Joel hate also made me smile. I loathed him when he was velcroed to Brendan's hip for months. Zzzzz. But he got better once both Walker and Ste were back in Brendan's life to mix things up. But I'm not trying to make anyone like anyone - hate away if you want to!

Here we go ...

**Whiskey Punch**

**Part 3: You got to get your hands dirty, son **

_Brendan_

_MAYWEATHER CONQUERS MOUNT COTTO!_

Brendan was sat at the bar, coffee in one hand, sports rag in the other, casting his eye idly over the boxing headlines. He had a soft spot for boxing. There was something very appealing about two men at the top of their game, slugging seven bells out of each other, warring for dominance. Something … aesthetic. Plus, he'd had a tidy fifty on Mayweather to win. There was something about his lither figure that Brendan liked. He was light on his feet, dancing and weaving. Anyway, he was the best, and Brendan liked winners. While he scanned the pictures, Walker was sat alongside him, his feet pulled up onto the bars of the stool, his rangy frame relaxed as he also sipped his morning coffee. Little was said, but then little needed to be said. After last night's melodramatics with the cash, they had settled this morning into what could probably best be described as an uneasy alliance. A Molotov-Ribbentrop non-aggression pact. A laying down of arms. It was just a marriage of convenience, Brendan thought. There was no guarantee they wouldn't start trying to kill each other later, specially if the guy laid a hand on his sister. But right now, Walker could be useful to him.

Christ, what did he really have here, after all? A club. And a deli. A stupid little shop which he tried not to think about because it wasn't even supposed to be his. The cash had been, the investment. But he thought of himself as a sleeping partner. This was different. This, he was in control of. The boss. And he had a wingman, which should make life that bit easier.

He didn't like Walker. But then he didn't really like anybody. They were hardly likely to start going for pints, watching the match together, exchanging notes on their kids' latest school reports. He realized he didn't even have a clue if Walker had kids. Somehow, it just seemed unlikely. So he would never understand what that felt like, that tie, unconditional, to be prepared to do anything for them, that gravitational pull that he still liked to think was the bedrock of his life. But he didn't mind him sticking around. Walker didn't pester him, make demands, make him feel guilty, make him feel like shit. He just sat with his feet up on Brendan's furniture and drank Brendan's coffee and laughed at Brendan's jokes. It was a refreshing change. And to be honest, he felt less bored, and more stimulated, than he had for a long time.

But just as two's company … three's always a crowd. Because here was Joel again, coming up the stairs, dragging his feet. Late, as always. Reminding Brendan why he had to break out of this, the dead cycle of days that came round, around and around, every single one the fucking same.

Joel had made no secret of his feelings for Walker. There would be no holding hands and skipping through the daisies there, though it was pretty obvious Joel thought that's exactly what had gone on between him and his prison mate. Had asked Brendan if "something had happened", and he didn't mean playing scrabble, unless the letters were s, e and x. Jealous, basically, in his own way. The moment Joel clapped eyes on Walker, now, he stopped, oozing resentment from every pale Caledonian pore.

"What's going on here?" he asked, pouting like a kid.

Brendan shrugged. He had tired of Joel's temper months ago. Though he also recognized it as very like his own. "Nothing."

Walker spoke into his coffee, but it was aimed right at the lad. "Business."

"Delivery downstairs," Brendan dismissed him. But his voice softened. Two against one. Wasn't really fair odds. "Got your name all over it."

"There's a good boy," Walker added, flippant. Brendan looked at him. There was something about the way Walker seemed to be enjoying this, that bugged him. Bugged Joel as well, judging by the way he turned on his heels and stormed off down the stairs. Brendan felt a stab of regret, got up and followed him, finally getting his attention in the downstairs bar.

"He talks to me again like that and I'll kick his teeth in!" Joel spat, turning round, looking close to tears.

Brendan turned on the calming act. It did no good to let the kid rage like this. He made even more of a mess of things when he was angry. "Relax," Brendan said. "Once the deal is done, we'll …" he lowered his voice, confidential, "let's see how cocky he is when he's out of pocket. Yeah?"

"You gonna cut him out of the deal?" Joel asked, through narrowed eyes, but coming round.

Brendan shrugged. "It's not like he's indispensable, is it?" He patted his cheek. "Relax, yeah?" After all, what beef did the kid really have? So he wanted to buy a car to take his little blonde girlfriend out, so what? He'd have time to earn it if he kept his head down and grafted. But there was no way he was letting him play with the Big Boys just yet. The guy couldn't even deal a bit of blow without attracting the attention of the local constabulary.

Later that day, Walker turned up with the details. Cheryl had finally managed to get her backside behind the bar for once. Brendan's eyes were cast down over his books, the legitimate ones, at the far end of the club, but he couldn't help but notice that as Walker passed her, he barely gave her a passing glance. And from her side, suspicion. He felt a sense of grim satisfaction. No hearts and flowers there either, then. He didn't mind keeping Walker around. But there was no fucking way he was sharing him with his sister. That always spelt disaster.

Walker came to a halt in front of Brendan, leaned casually over the bar, and held up his phone, screen towards him.

"Address," he said, cutting to the chase.

"Excuse me?" Brendan feigned unconcern. It appeared to have little effect on Walker. He was getting used to this swordplay, thrust for thrust. A game they both understood the rules for, that meant pretty much nothing. Anyway, he had taken a glance at the screen, that was enough. He rarely needed anything spelling out. He had been a model pupil, once. And he had a very good memory, when he let himself remember. Some things it paid to forget.

"If you're interested," Walker ploughed on. "Seven o' clock on the dot, or else forget about it."

Brendan looked at him, showing no emotion. Wasn't hard to do when he felt none.

"Problem?" Walker asked, impatient.

Brendan laid down his terms. "Once I provide the money, I'm done," he said. Bank of Brady. He had left his footsoldier days behind a while ago. When he'd been trying to live a cleaner life. Although he'd had a reason for it, back then.

Walker looked back at him, his mouth slightly open. His eyes were massive, Brendan thought. Strange, huge, liquid. Like the eyes of an Indian snake charmer. Hypnotic, if you were weak enough to fall for that kind of thing. Walker blinked, once, the eyes disappearing behind surprising long fair lashes, and reappearing, blank. It struck him that Walker was disappointed.

"Oh, is that right?" Walker asked him.

"Yes."

"If you wanna get involved," Walker said, parrying, "you got to get your hands dirty, son."

The weird estuary slang that Walker spoke, that was from everywhere and nowhere, was belittling. No one called Brendan son, if he could help it. But he overlooked it, this time. He felt the tug of two lives, familiar. The dark and the light. He could feel Cheryl, loitering in the background.

"I'm not having anything traced back here," Brendan said. "Simple."

"Feel free to opt out at any time," Walker said, sarcastic, anger seeping through.

"Not how I operate," Brendan blocked. He wondered why Walker even cared this much.

"I am not your errand boy," Walker said. So, that then. He wanted to be Brendan's equal. His brother in arms. And he wasn't going into battle alone.

Brendan shrugged. He wasn't in the habit of negotiating. And it worked. Walker broke eye contact first. Stood up and rummaged in the pockets of that manky coat of his. Seriously, the guy looked like he'd walked out of an Oxfam shop in Liam Gallagher's cast-offs. A bit of self-respect wouldn't have gone amiss.

"If you decide to get over yourself," Walker said, holding out a slip of paper, "text me on this number."

He reached across the bar to tuck it into the inside breast pocket of Brendan's jacket. Instinctively, Brendan grabbed hold of Walker's wrist, and gripped it, hard. It had felt like … an invasion. He squeezed the narrow bones between his tightening fingers, but Walker didn't wince. They met each other's gaze, eyeball to eyeball, hostile, locked together. He didn't even know the fuck why everything this guy did felt like an attack. Friendly fire, or whatever the fuck they call it. A duel.

Finally, after what felt like an hour, Brendan let go. Walker withdrew his hand, still staring. And walked away. No winners, and no losers. Stalemate. Christ, the fucker was hard to subdue. But then maybe, that was why he'd got Brendan's interest, where everyone else had failed. And it felt good. For all the hassle, it did. Something was happening again. Nothing Cheryl could know about, but it felt … good.

Shame it seemed to piss Joel off so badly. He was starting to feel like a burden. He came barging his way into the office looking like he'd just eaten a wasp sandwich with birdshit mayonnaise.

"This deal, I want part of it," he said.

Brendan sighed. "Do you now?"

"I can handle myself," he said.

"This from a man who can't even change a beer barrel," Brendan shot back.

But the lad had got himself upset, now. "Don't … don't mock me. Let me prove myself." He stood right in front of the desk, as Brendan took out a pile of cash, casually, and put it on the table. He toyed with it, considering his options.

"Prove what?" he asked.

"That me and you are equals," the kid said. "I'm ready for this Brendan, you know I am." Look at you, Brendan thought, all grown up. Maybe his balls had finally dropped.

"This is my money we're talking about Joel," he said, hedging his bets. Alarm bells were ringing.

"I'm done letting people down," Joel said. Even he knew he was a screw-up, then. "You take Walker's share then he isn't gonna be happy."

"That's my problem."

But the guy just wouldn't give up. "I can help you, you know I can," he said. The need to get close to Brendan, the need for status, approval, was written all over him. Brendan considered him. It would save him going in himself. Plus, Walker might finally get the telegram. Brendan didn't have equals. He had staff. Walker needed to get that into his long thin skull.

"So am I in?" Joel asked, eager.

Well, what else had he taken the kid in for?

* * *

"Talk to me," Brendan said into the phone, to Walker. He was abrupt. Foreplay was over. Time to get down to business. Arrange the hook up between Walker and Joel.

"Enough with the pleasantries," Walker shot back, as if he could read Brendan's mind.

Brendan grimaced, joyless. "There's funny," he said, "there's not so funny, and then there's you."

But Walker didn't seem to be in the mood for dueling right now. "Deal's off, brother," he said, curt, all the usual insinuation from his voice gone.

Brendan paused. He must have misheard. Right? "Say that again."

"Not a good idea," Walker said. Just that. Like this was acceptable. Like this was even for one second an acceptable outcome for a deal with Brendan Brady.

"What's brought this on?" Brendan asked, his mind turning over fast, trying to work out why a man like Walker would pull out of a deal he'd set up his damn self. Something stank higher than last night's cod and chips in the gutter.

"Looked deeper into the connection," Walker said. "Too unpredictable. Forget it."

Jesus Christ, Brendan thought, how fucking mental could they be? They were drug dealers. You gave them the money, they gave you the drugs. It was business, that was how it worked. He wondered, for a second, if Walker was all talk, no balls.

"Look Walker, if you're not up for the job, then …"

But Walker cut him off. "This guy's bad news. I'm out." Then went on. "If you wanna chance your own cash, be my guest."

Brendan terminated the call. He felt a sense of dull fury. The cocky, arrogant prick. Just when something was starting to happen. A taste, a tease, a tempter – a deal that could have put him back in the drivers' seat, got him away from all this small time shit. A proper two-hander. And now, dumped.

Christ.

* * *

He sat in the office, turning the white castle over in his hand. He felt a sense of deadening anger at Walker bailing out that he didn't fully understand. It was almost a sense of rejection, abandonment. Insane.

"Where's Walker?" Joel asked him, coming in for what had supposed to be the meet-up. Good fucking question.

"Getting his hair straightened," Brendan barked at him. "What would I know?"

"It's his deal," Joel said, with his usual perceptive edge.

"_Was _his deal," Brendan said to him. "Was. He just jumped ship."

"Did he give a reason?" Joel was frowning. Not too happy about having his big moment snatched away from him then.

"No."

"He must have figured out we were gonna cut him out of the deal," Joel said, avoiding Brendan's eyes. Not a natural plotter, Joel.

"You're giving him credit where it ain't due," Brendan said.

He had spent the last half hour trying to work out why Walker would have pulled out that fast. He'd come to the conclusion that Walker had just lost his nerve. That he was all tease, and no follow-through.

"Did ye ever think he had the same idea?" Joel threw out, now. "Think he'd been trying to play us?"

"For his sake, I hope not," Brendan said. The idea that Walker might have played him stirred up a whole bunch of thoughts he didn't really want to examine. The guy was as dodgy as a thirty pound note, but deliberate deception? It was a non-starter. For now, he pushed it away. Why would he? They had history - that was real. It all checked out. They had … an agreement. An understanding. And Brendan had been in control of everything that had happened - giving him a place to stay, calling him out on the cash. Anyway, he could still turn this around. A Brady always ends up on top.

Joel was gutted though. "Yeah," he muttered, his voice heavy with disappointment, and turned to leave.

"Hey," Brendan called him back. "Where d'ye think you're going?"

"Out," Joel shrugged.

"A deal's still a deal," Brendan said, looking up at him. "Yeah?"

The lad wasn't the brightest firework in the box. But a smile spread over his face as he realised. "Yeah," he said.

"Good," Brendan said.

* * *

Brendan was drinking alone when Walker finally came crawling out whatever hole he'd gone to ground in. Though it was less of a crawl, more of a bounce. He seemed completely unfazed by having just turned his back on a cool fifty grand's worth of prime charlie.

"Shouldn't you be backing out of a deal right now?" Brendan taunted him. Walker just laughed. "What are you doin' here?" Brendan honestly hadn't expected him to show his face back in the club. Not for a while, anyway.

He seemed, as always, inscrutable. "Just fancied one for the road," Walker said.

"That right?" Brendan said, reaching for the bottle to pour them both a slug of liquor. It didn't actually occur to him to wonder where exactly Walker went these days when he wasn't hanging round with his nose in Brendan's business. He didn't care.

"Glad to see you took my advice," Walker said, still almost annoyingly cheerful. "Don't worry, got plenty more lined up."

Brendan felt a need to change the terms of this relationship, before it went any further. Seriously, did Walker really think this was going to be a regular thing?

"Yeah," he said. "I'm done trusting you now." His hand stopped short of pouring Walker a drink. But he lifted his own. "See ye."

Every instinct told Brendan that Walker was habitually economical with the truth. About knowing Cheryl. About the money. About the deal. Like a fucking idiot, he had let himself be talked around twice. He had no idea why. But three times would have to make him the world's biggest village idiot.

Walker pulled back from bar. Nose out of joint now, Brendan thought. But Walker carried on, as if he hadn't just been put royally back in his box.

"I did you a favour, you know?" he said. "Keep well away. Psycho's an understatement for those lads." And he turned, and walked out, disappearing as suddenly, and as inexplicably, as he'd arrived.

Psycho. An understatement. In spite of his rock bottom certainty that Walker was bullshitting him like a pro, a cold hand laid itself at the base of his neck. He thought of Joel, walking into the hyenas' den, a cocky smile on his face. "In, then straight out," he'd told him. "You're in control at all times." In control? Joel?

His hand went almost automatically to his phone. Called Joel's number. No answer.

"I've seen how this works," Joel had said. So confident. Only an idiot would be that confident with guys like this. Brendan drummed on the counter with his fingers. Felt a thrum of tension in his blood. Tried the phone again. _Leave your message after the tone. _

"Joel, it's me. Er … there's been a change of plan. I need you out of there. I'll explain everything when I see you. Just … give me a call when you get this."

"Don't screw it up," he'd said to little Foxy, the stupid nickname he'd given him to keep him in his place. His last words to him, before he left, don't screw it up. Brendan covered his eyes with his fingers. Called again. This time, someone picked up.

"Joel?"

But he could only hear an echo, noises in a hall, no voice. Then something like a gasp, a rasping breath. Like someone fighting to breathe.

"Joel? … Joel! Are you there?"

Then silence.

"Joel!"


	4. Chapter 4: A friend of a friend

Hi again. Thanks to my 2 guests and Ginafisch for the feedback.

Guest 1 and Ginafisch, the issue of whether/why Brendan let himself trust Walker really interests me. My own feeling is that he never really trusted Walker, but he wanted to, because he really just wanted someone on his side who he could rely on. So he was torn between sort of liking having him there, and always knowing there was something dodgy about him. But just my opinion! It doesn't make me like Brendan less for letting himself be fooled.

Guest 2 - will there be Ste? Mmmmmmmmaybe. ; ) I'd have had Ste in every part really, but all it would have said for the first 10 parts was "Made a panini. Snogged Doug." Which doesn't inspire me.

Anyway, back to Walker ...

**Whiskey Punch**

**Part 4: A friend of a friend**

_Walker_

So, things had gone a bit … pear shaped. Why did I pull out? No great mystery. Because I needed not to be there. And Brendan did. That was the whole bloody point, catch him red-handed. I knew he couldn't resist, it was just too much of a tempter, a sitter, a wide open goal. And if I dropped out, he'd have to go himself. Because if he didn't, who was he gonna send? The Clydeside numpty?

Which is where it went to shit. Right. Down. The crapper.

My associates, the ones watching the meet-up, were on the blower yelling fit to burst my ear drums.

"Who the fuck's that? It's not him! No, I said it's not him! I don't know who the fuck it is, it's some kid, he looks like he bunked off school! We're aborting, this isn't happening. What? Yeah, I'm pissed, it's a waste of fucking time. What the point of going after some kid? What's he dealing – Toblerone and Curly Wurlies? Jesus Christ. Just … sort it Walker. Don't give me excuses just … sort it. Yeah, yeah. Love you too. I look forward to your report. Fuckety bye."

With hindsight, it was perhaps a shame they left before he finally came out. But I'll admit, I had a stab of conscience, if you'll excuse the phrase. The lad was nothing, but he wasn't supposed to get stuck in the middle of this. And in a way … he reminded me of someone. None of this was his fault, really, for all he got up in my face. It was all down to Brendan. It was him I wanted to suffer. Anyway, that's why I went back to the bar, to try to warn Brendan that he needed to make sure Joel got out safe. Except he didn't.

Once I knew Brendan had gone after the lad, there wasn't much else to do but go back to the club and wait for news. Something told me this wasn't going to end well. Well, it hadn't been supposed to, not for Brendan, but this was different. This was collateral damage. I was going to find this very difficult to explain.

There were a handful of punters sitting having drinks, but otherwise, the place was dead. I sat nursing a drink and hoped my contacts hadn't put Joel into the same terminal condition. Cheryl was minding the bar for once. And even then, it seemed like her brother could do no right with her. She'd been trying to call him, looked like, but she put the phone away, frustrated.

"How does a twelve stone Irish lump like Brendan just vanish into thin air?" she mused. "It's lucky for him that we're quiet." Then turned her attention to me. "And what about you?" she asked me, speculative, wary. "What's your plan? Surely you don't wanna be hanging round here forever, do you?"

I was actually quite surprised. To be honest, I'd expected by now she'd be glad to see the back of me. But there was still some lingering interest there. OK, she knew I wasn't Mr Darcy, I was never gonna sweep her off to live in a mansion, but she didn't live among heroes, and she had some romantic history with bad lads, I'd done some digging.

I leant across counter to test this out. "Why?" I asked. "Trying to get rid of me?"

She smiled, thinly. OK, not the starstruck look she's started with. But it was still a smile. I returned it. I wondered if while Brendan was off playing cowboys and indians, she really wanted me to herself. I felt a sense of possibility opening back up. She was distracted though by a little blonde girl coming up the stairs, in a right state. Dressed up to the ninety nines, but with mascara half way down her face, wet, shivering.

"Where is he?" she asked Cheryl. She didn't bother to hold back the angry tears.

"Where's who, love?" Cheryl asked her.

And she started banging on about someone standing her up, not answering her calls.

"Joel?" Cheryl asked her.

Right, so this was Joel's piece. This didn't sound good. Cheryl was saying something about what an excited little puppy he'd been about their hot date. But the new arrival was unimpressed.

"If you see him, tell him he's an arrogant little pig," she said. "If he ever comes near me again, he's a dead man." And she tottered off on her heels, still sniffing and wiping away the furious tears.

I'll be honest, I had wondered if Joel … y'know. Him and Brendan. Can't blame a guy for wondering. He just seemed to want Daddy's approval so very very badly. But unless he swung both ways, and it didn't seem that likely to me - he was just too … unreconstructed - the appearance of this little Theresa girl seemed to say otherwise. Cheryl just checked her phone again, frowning. Then turned back to me.

"So, you and Brendan seem pretty tight." There was still something seductive in her voice. But I did wonder if she just thought I could tell her where he was, and what he was doing. There was every chance we were playing each other right that second.

"Why do you say that?" I stalled.

"I dunno, I've seen you two gassing together," she said. "Whereas his own flesh and blood, we get … nada." So this was interesting. How far he kept her from all of this. I wondered how far he'd go to make sure she never found out.

"Maybe he reckons it's best you don't know," I told her, rubbing it in. That in some ways, I knew him better than she did. But I shrugged. "Besides, me and Brendan, I reckon our talking days are over." Because she was bound to find out we weren't exactly holding hands down the street right now. I held my glass up to her, and knocked it back in one. But it didn't matter. Something else had caught her eye. There was a moment of recognition, which froze into a dumbstuck horror. I turned to look.

Brendan, coming up the stairs. He looked numb. There was blood all over the guy's shirt. Shit. I wondered exactly how apocalyptically bad this was. If Joel was dead, things could get complicated. He'd hate himself, and be hated, and that was fine, I didn't care. But he'd never let me back in, after. Never. I don't think he even noticed I was there, as it was.

"Jesus, Brendan, you're bleeding!" Cheryl shrieked. "What happened?"

"It's not my blood," he muttered, walking straight to the club decks. The music came to an abrupt halt. "Night's over," he said to the few scattered punters. "Everyone out."

For a moment, they seemed to think this was a joke. Which it was, that place, mostly. Then he went nuclear.

"NOW!" he screamed. And every single one put their drinks down and filed out meekly, like frightened lambs. I'm guessing Chez Chez didn't get a lot of repeat business.

As soon as they were gone, Brendan headed off to the bathrooms, with Cheryl in tow. I followed, at a careful distance. There were a lot of broken, rushed exchanges while Brendan seemed to be trying to scrub the kid's blood off his hands. Harder than you think.

"What … what was it, like, like a mugging?" Cheryl was asking, trying to process what had happened. "Bren!"

"They don't know, they don't know …" he muttered, distracted.

"This is … well, are the police up there?" Cheryl's voice was high, almost hysterical.

"Not yet," Brendan was mumbling.

And then Cheryl was wittering about Joel being up at the hospital on his own, and how she couldn't bear it.

Brendan was practically babbling, the words spilling out, incoherent. "He's in surgery now so no one can go and visit him, we can't, we can't visit him." I'd not seen him like that before. The brush scratched away at his skin until it seemed like he would bleed.

"He's gonna be OK though, right?" Cheryl demanded. "Do you really not know anything else?" She seemed to be losing it, and so was he.

"No, no, I don't know! I don't know, how am I supposed to know Chez, I don't know, OK?!"

This seemed to change the dynamic. Right off, she clicked into soothing mood.

"Okay, all right," she breathed, "all right, come here, ok, just … clean your shirt up, I'll call the hospital." She leant up and kissed him on the cheek. It seemed to calm him. She'd obviously done this before.

"OK, OK, sorry," he was muttering, and "Chez?"

"Yes?"

"Let Theresa know, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"OK."

And she left, leaving Brendan with me. I moved forward, to be sure he could see me. He seemed calmer, wiping his hands on a towel. More still. But luckily, so far up to his neck in his own troubles that he never seemed to question why I was still there at all.

"So, these friends of yours," he said to me. "Unpredictable?" I nodded. "Well, I'm gonna show them what that means," he finished.

So, we had a problem. Or I did. None of this was supposed to happen. From here on in, I was improvising, no script, no director, no stunt double. And the very last thing I needed was Brendan getting done for GBH. That would throw a spanner right into the whole works. When he reappeared in the bar, fresh shirt and pulling on his jacket like he meant business, I tried to head him off.

"Shouldn't you go with Cheryl to the hospital?" I asked him. "You know, moral support, and all that?"

But no way was he making it that easy for me.

"Got something to take care of first, don't I?" he snapped, undeterred. And it was obvious what he meant. I tried a different tack.

"Been going through my mind too, you know," I said. "Payback?"

"That right?" he said.

"Trust me … bad idea," I told him. But I didn't really have much to back it up. I was swinging in the wind here.

Brendan poured himself a large double. "Your friends," he said, "they got what's mine. And unless you can suggest somewhere else I can get it …? Can you?"

His eyes stared me down. I felt like I was up against the buffers. But if you hit a dead end, change track. Adapt. Be flexible. I got up.

"OK, what's our plan?" Because whatever he was about to do, we would do it together. This is called going off-piste. It wouldn't be making it into any official reports. But it would achieve one thing that I needed, badly. Trust. I would go in there, back him up. Sit at the right hand of God.

Brendan shook his head. "I don't need anybody." He was predictable, at least. But I just ploughed on.

"I can see that," I said, undaunted, "but I'm coming with you. Whether you like it or not." I would show him how much he needed me. Specially now.

He didn't hold out for long. He'd taken a hammering today. He looked down at his glass. Then nodded. "All right."

I should have been pleased, I guess. I was back in, or I would be. But this was about to get very very messy. And I was right in the middle of it. Riding shotgun. But too late to back out now. In for a penny.

The place was a dive, obviously. They always are. I didn't know the guys from Adam, tell the truth. It had all been set up through a middle man, someone who did the face-to-face, and vouched for me. I'd only spoken to them on the blower. The main guy was your basic dealer. White, scouser. Sampson, of all the stupid things you could be called. He led us into the main room. I stayed behind Brendan's shoulder, looking around. I felt wired. This was going to have to be fucking convincing.

"I don't normally do short notice, lads," the guy whined, sarcastic. Another guy was in there as well, slumped in front of a TV. He got up. His brother, Casper, if my prep was anything to go by. They really were at the back of the queue when they were giving out names. So, it was two against two. Fair odds.

"I'm honoured," Brendan cracked. I was getting used to this. The humour. The wall of defence.

The Sampson guy looked expectant. "Let's see it then," he said. "The cash."

For what felt like about a minute, Brendan just stood there, chewing gum. Then he lowered his voice to its softest. The tone where you have to lean right in to hear. The one he uses to draw you into him.

"I think we got our wires crossed," he said. "I came with a message. The kid, that was here earlier? Well, somehow, he ended up in hospital. Fighting for his life."

I can't say this seemed to soften Sampson's heart. "Oh dear," he said, turning to the other guy. "Maybe he deserved it."

Brendan started to laugh. I recognized it, felt it. The beginning of a loss of control. I placed a hand on hiss shoulder. Squeezed, patted. Felt the effect it had on him. Calming, even though he winced under it.

"Spoilsport," I said to the main guy, moving past Brendan to take the front. "Still," I carried on, "it was a friend of a friend."

That's the way these things go down, isn't it? Friends have to help out friends.

In the background, I could hear Brendan move to the door now. Close it. Back in front of me, the boy Sampson was starting to squirm, just a bit.

"He won't yours though, was he?" he said. Because he knew what this meant. "So we're cool, then."

"The trouble is," I told him, "this," I gestured to Brendan, "is that friend."

And finally, they started to look worried.

I guess you'll be wanting a blow by blow account of the fight, right? Well, you ain't getting one. What happened between those four walls stays there. Can't have that on my record. But let's just say we had a couple of advantages. The first one was that we weren't half stoned. Not for years have I ever let that shit near my body, and I never saw Brendan take anything stronger than liquor either. I like to keep my wits about me. And the second was, we were fighting for something that mattered. I was fighting for Brendan, to keep him close. And Brendan was fighting for … whatever mental shit he had going on in his head. Because he was brutal, the full red mist. Effective, in control, but an animal, like a cornered bear. I didn't have much time for thinking right then, but later, I wondered who the enemy really was, the shadow that sat inside his skull and could make him lash out like that. If, after all, the person he fought with most rage was himself. Anyway, they had no chance. At one point the brother went down pretty heavily, smacked his head on some furniture, didn't look like he was getting up any time soon. So we both went to work on Sampson. Four feet, one ribcage. He was down and out before we'd really worked up a sweat. Gave up the money, sweet and easy, when he couldn't take any more. And then Brendan discarded him on the floor like an empty banana skin.

His body slumped, gave out a nasal moan. Brendan stood over him, panting. Then looked up at me. I took my cue from him. His look was a kind of reward. I felt … recognized. His eyelids flickered. He put the money into his jacket pocket. And then nodded.

"We're done here."

I nodded back. "Sure." And we were out of there, with knuckles red raw, a few bruises, but otherwise, barely a scratch on us.

And the weirdest thing was … I was buzzing. Adrenalin, most probably. Fear, maybe, though I never thought we could lose that. But a thrill of fear at what I was capable of. Because I know how to fight but … not that. That's not my life. Or it wasn't. Drug dealers, GBH. I'd seen it, plenty. Despised it, mostly. But now … I was part of it. Because of him. I should have felt sick to my guts. Hadn't even stopped to check if the other guy, lying like a discarded crash test dummy on the floor, was still breathing. But to tell the truth … I was mainly wired. And I felt strangely connected. To him. To Brendan Brady.

I followed him to the hospital, where he went right after. I'd had a taste of it now, what it felt to be part of Brady's world. And I wanted more. I couldn't seem to stop my mouth.

"A lot of effort, Brendan," I called after him, rushing up the hospital steps, away from me. "A lot of effort for a bit of cash."

He stopped and turned around. I had him. I had him in the palm of my hand. I just needed to prise him open a little bit further. Because something told me this was about more than I knew right now. I didn't really get it, but was this really about Joel? It sure as hell wasn't about cash. No one fights like their life depended on it over a bundle of dodgy notes.

Behind him, I could see Cheryl appear at the doors. Yeah, so sweet, brother and sister, inseparable. I realized in a moment that I could turn this my way, even if he didn't want to talk.

"You still pretending that that was about respect?" I asked him. "What about that little pawn you sent in?" Slow and clear, so it would carry.

It was obvious now that he wanted to go, twitchy, uneasy, bristling.

"He was too stupid to see he was out of his depth," I went on, baiting him, but aiming it right at someone else, over his shoulder.

Brendan walked up to me. Close, so close. His voice was very quiet. But like before, there was madness in his face. "Don't you say that about him. Ever."

So it upset him then. When people got hurt. Certain people. People he thought he was supposed to protect. Not Joel, I didn't buy this was all about him. But something that he represented. Something Brendan saw when he looked at the kid. Or someone. Someone he had failed. Someone he missed. Someone he needed. May sound a strange thing to say, but I knew exactly how that felt. We were the same. Not in every way, there was no way I'd go on failing like he had, I'd sworn that. That's why I was here. But I knew how it felt. And knowing I knew made me bold.

"What is with this lone wolf nonsense?" I asked him, speaking soft, shaking my head. "People are dispensable. Am I misquoting?" I wanted him to know, that I'd heard. I hear everything. It's what I do. I'm a very good listener.

I waited. He never said a damn word, but he looked … disturbed. Then I lowered my voice further. A whisper, only him and me could hear now.

"Go on," I said. "Go on. Let it all out. If that's what you need. I'll let you." Because I knew that's what he needed. There was something in there, that he was holding on to, and it was killing him. Literally. And he was dying to tell. Also literally, curling up inside, a bit more, every day. He just needed me to give him permission for this. To let him in. To have me as the one he was going to confide in.

Suddenly, he took another lurch towards me, so his face almost touched mine. This time, I didn't flinch. I was ready for it. Because this time, I made it happen. And it was like slow motion. Time hung in the balance. But when his face was a millimeter from mine, he stopped. Took a sharp intake of breath. Then let it out. But honestly? Even getting that close was enough. In spite of everything, I was in, and he knew it.

"Hmm," I said to him, satisfied, for now. "The real Brendan Brady."

And he must have seen me flicker a glance over his shoulder, because he turned round then and saw that his precious sister had witnessed the whole thing. And she knew about Joel.

Right that moment, the little blonde Theresa arrives, teetering on heels, looking if anything trampier than before. Cheryl put her arm around her shoulder and shepherded her inside with a look of burning resentment back at her brother.

Brendan turned back and stared at me. And he's smart guy, in his own way. I expect he was wondering if he'd been set up. I gave him a smile, and went in, leaving him looking defeated. Vulnerable.

What a difference a day makes.


	5. Chapter 5: You've got my number

****Hi again! Thanks to my Guest, Ginafisch, kylikki and iamthescotslamb for the feedback. A few comments:

Guest: Do I respect Walker too much? I don't know! I love him, but he's basically a loon on a crazy mission that will wreck his life. But he does have the upper hand at the start, because only he knows he's undercover, and about Cam.

Ginafisch: I think when Brendan and Walker had sex, Brendan may not have trusted Walker as a person, but he was 100% convinced that Walker was gay, and he was handing it to him on a plate. It was the act of two desperate men, and a way for Brendan to feel back in control. What really disturbed me was that Walker would do that to himself - horrible.

kylikki: I loved this period from last summer! The show was mostly rocking back then (Ste/Doug aside), so I've loved going back to it.

iamthescotslamb: Will Walker be not-so-straight? Let's just say I'm thinking about it ... ; )

Here we go ...

**Whiskey Punch**

**Part 5: You've got my number**

_Brendan_

The worst thing about standing outside the ICU, waiting to see if Joel would live or die, was the flashbacks. He just couldn't get the memory of Joel's body in the stairwell out of his mind. The blood. But more than the blood, the bloodlessness of his face, white, like a dead man. He'd felt a wash of horror. A tidal wave, that nearly knocked him off his feet. All he could think was no, no, no, this isn't happening, this wasn't supposed to go down like this. But he had still reached for his phone, hands shaking. Called the ambulance, fingers fumbling. Beyond that, his main feeling was of powerlessness. Because strangely, giving Sampson the kicking of his life would mean nothing if Joel didn't make it.

Inside the doors, Cheryl sat with her arm around Theresa as Theresa wept, softly.

Eventually, Cheryl came out. And he realized he had no idea what to say to her. He never did, in situations like this. He settled for a stupid joke.

"No coffee, can you believe it?" Brendan said. "No wonder people are so miserable."

Bur there was no way Cheryl was letting him get away with this. She looked horrified, mouth open.

"What?" Brendan asked, with a shrug of his shoulders that was more dismissive than he meant. Surely she knew by now that this was how he dealt with things.

"I misheard you," Cheryl said, accusation in her voice. "That's what it was, wasn't it? I got it wrong."

"Chez, please."

"You let Joel go in and do whatever it is that you do … I mean, how could you?" So here it was. The responsibility card. Bit rich, coming from a woman who had none that he could see, but was always very keen for him to meet his.

"I'm not his Dad," he said, between gritted teeth. He had two sons, and that was fucking hard enough.

"No, you're not," Cheryl said. "But he trusts you like one. And don't you start pretending that that's news to you, Brendan."

"I never asked him to get involved!" He could feel himself starting to snap. Didn't want to be here, didn't want to be having this conversation. How was this his life?

"No, you didn't, but you didn't stop him either. That kid is lying in there and he's at death's door!"

Why the sudden attack of the maternals, he wondered. She'd hardly ever bothered with Joel before now.

"And? Wha'? You want me to start feeling guilty about it?" he shouted back. "Newsflash sis, not my problem."

Without warning, she landed a slap across his face, with full force. Afterwards, there was silence. His face stang, but that was nothing. She had never done that before, ever, raised her hand to him, not in their whole lives. Not like that. She'd gone mental when she realized he'd been lying to her all those years about who he was. Had chucked the contents of a cash drawer at him. But this was different. She'd always been fiery, warm. But this was cold, and hard. It was like something had appeared from nowhere, come between them, set them out of whack. Someone had taken his little sister away. He hardly recognized her, or them.

"You don't deserve his respect," she hissed at him. "If Joel dies, it's on you."

He wondered, as he watched her go, if the truth was, she felt as guilty as he did.

* * *

It was a long night, time stretching like elastic as Brendan sat waiting with Cheryl to see if the kid would pull through surgery. A night not improved by the arrival of Walker carrying two cups of the world's worst coffee, the colour and texture of Liffey water. They ended up in the bin, but not much seemed to get Walker down. He just took a seat beside Brendan, as if he had some kind of right to it. Brendan's hackles rose, knowing Cheryl's hostility intensified whenever Walker was around. On the other hand, it was mildly comforting to have someone there who didn't seem to hate his guts to hell and back.

It was Lynsey who came out to tell them the news. They'd let her scrub in, knowing she was practically family.

When she announced that he'd be OK, the sense of relief washed over Brendan like a tsunami. Hands he hadn't even known were clenched, unclenched. It was like something unfurled inside him. Thank you God, he prayed, silently. Life could go on. But even then, in that moment where they should have been celebrating, Cheryl would barely meet his eye, let alone return his smile.

He wangled his way in to see Joel with Lynsey as chaperone. It was out of line, he knew, but she owed him, after all. And he needed to see him. Partly to get that image of him in the stairwell, his head thrown back, out of his mind. But he had an ulterior motive. He needed to see Joel before anyone else did. Cops, specifically. There would be questions. There needed to be answers.

Lynsey allowed Brendan to stand quietly just inside the door of Joel's room. He looked at the bed with a sense of dread. But actually, it wasn't what he'd been expecting. There were none of those tubes, or machines, or masks. He just looked like a kid, laid out on his back in the bed under the blankets, like Deccie had after his op, and that was nothing really.

Lynsey must have sensed his surprise. "He's conscious, and breathing on his own," she said, in low tones. "He's gonna be alright, he's just not quite ready for visitors yet." But the kid must have heard them talking.

"Brendan?" he said, croaky, almost inaudible.

Lynsey relented. "You've got two minutes," she said to Brendan, and left them together.

He wandered cautiously over to the bed, hearing his feet scuff the floor, the fancy shoes he always wore that suddenly seemed so out of place.

"Hi," he said. It seemed inadequate.

"Hi," Joel said. As if that was all he needed, just to know Brendan was there.

"I shouldn't have …" Brendan started, but faded out. Tried again. "I shouldn't have let you go in there on your own."

"I was doin' fine," Joel said, defensive as ever.

"Evidently," Brendan said, with a lift of his eyebrow. Was rewarded by a small laugh from Joel. He obviously felt stupid. But he was also awake enough to start asking questions.

"What happened to you?" he asked, raising a finger towards Brendan's hand, swollen and scuffed.

"Payback," Brendan told him, quietly. And Joel understood, right off.

"You went without me," he said, sounding sad. "I wanted to teach those guys a lesson."

Brendan couldn't hold in a laugh. As if he'd ever have allowed Joel to go back there. Brendan had made the mess, so he'd cleaned it up. Simple as that. It was what he did.

"I'm in enough trouble with Cheryl as it is," he said, "so …"

"Is Walker here?" Joel asked, a shadow crossing his face. Not much more than a whisper. "Does he know I screwed up?"

Such a proud little fucker, Brendan thought. He spared him. "No, he doesn't know a thing," he lied.

But that just seemed to set the lad off. His mouth worked, struggling for the words.

"Brendan, I'm so sorry I messed up," he said, finally, his voice breaking.

Brendan found it hard to look at him. He looked away, and saw Cheryl on the other side of the door, watching him.

"S'ok," Brendan soothed, as he had when his own kids were little, and had nightmares, and he'd wanted to wipe it all away. "S'ok." But Cheryl still moved away from the window and out of sight.

When Joel was settled, his mind at rest, his story sorted, that unlucky accident he'd had, Brendan went to find her. He didn't need to go far. She was sat right outside, keeping watch. It was late, now, the dead time of night when it felt like morning would never turn up to save them.

"He's sleeping," Brendan told her. But still, she wouldn't meet his gaze. This was insane. She was his sister, they always got through stuff like this together. "You wanna go get a proper coffee?" he asked her, trying to reach her. "Have a chat, maybe?" The words sounded pathetic in his mouth. She seemed to think so, anyway, getting up out of her seat, stiff, but then just walking away without a word.

"Yeah," Brendan sighed, passing a hand over his eyes. He actually didn't remember her ever being this angry with him before. And he'd done some pretty terrible things. It felt like a new low. And then Walker appeared.

He was, as always, irritatingly chirpy. "Looks like your boy's gonna live," he said. "And you got your money back. Turned out nicely."

Sure, Brendan thought. This is just absolutely my happy ever after. "Lucky for you," he snapped back.

Walker looked only mildly put out. "No 'thank you'?" he asked. "Don't see you lying in that hospital …"

Christ, he was being annoying. Was he never serious about anything? "Joel nearly bled to death," Brendan reminded him, his words heavy with dislike.

"I know," Walker said, with mock solemnity. Shook his head. "Terrible … terrible." And smiled.

It struck Brendan that Walker didn't seem to give two shits in the wood about anyone, or anything. He wondered what that felt like. If life was just a lot easier. Because right now, giving a shit was giving him a serious bellyache. He stepped up to Walker, invaded his space. He needed to take control of this, right now.

"You're gonna go find my little sister," he told him. "You're gonna go tell her there was no deal, and … that I'm all in the clear."

Brendan was getting almost used to Walker's natural talent for not doing what he asked. He felt exasperation rising as Walker shook his head.

"Why would I do that?" he asked, still smiling. Brendan wondered if it would take a nuclear bomb to stop the guy smiling. In the absence of a Cruise missile, he decided on an unveiled threat.

"Because the longer she blames me," Brendan said, "… the worse it is for you." He placed two fingers on Walker's breast bone, skinny but muscular. Held them there, feeling the pulse underneath them, steady and regular. And the guy was still fucking smiling. Then he walked away.

* * *

Walker didn't reappear. The night dragged on, without much relief. Nurses came and went. Technically, Brendan was free to go home, come back in the morning. The kid was fine, or would be. But morally, whatever that meant, seemed like a whole different game. He felt unable to leave. He wandered the corridors, restless. Passed the one shop that seemed to stay open all night. There was a single bunch of iffy-looking chrysanths still in the bucket. Brendan bought them. This was what people did, right? He took them back to Joel's room, but his girl was in there with them. He sat outside. He felt like he was going insane. He hated hospitals. Too much waiting, time to think. The last time he'd been here, with someone … things had gone pretty much to shit as well. He started to pick the flowers quietly to pieces.

_Loves me. Loves me not. Loves me. Loves me not._

That's what he always did, he thought, as the petals landed in a pile at his feet, one after the other. Damage. Pick away at things, until they fell to pieces, and there was no putting them back.

His thoughts were interrupted by Theresa, who slid out of Joel's room quietly, as if trying not to disturb. When she saw him, she stopped. He realized she probably hated him as well. Or was just scared of him. It was usually either or. Or both. He looked up at her.

"You think he'll like 'em?" he asked.

She shrugged, a bit confused. "Don't know that Joel likes flowers much."

"Funny isn't it?" Brendan said to her. "Getting flowers for sick people. I don't think watching something wither and die would cheer me up, would it cheer you up?"

She laughed, nervous, shifting from foot to foot. Shrugged again. "Maybe just get him a card," she said.

"A card. Now that is a great idea, Theresa. A card." He spoke quietly, and slow, drawing out the words. "What shall I write in this card? Dear Joel, thanks for not dying?"

There was a pause. She seemed lost as to how to answer. "Sorry, I guess you're on your own there," she said.

"Yeah," he said, his voice almost inaudible now. He always was, wasn't he? He listed to the sound of her feet as she disappeared down the corridor, leaving him alone.

He looked down at the broken flowers. "Sorry," he whispered. "I think that's more appropriate. Sorry." There were so many things he was sorry for. Only some of them to do with Joel.

* * *

When morning came, it was a fucking relief. Walker breezed back in some time after six, throwing his bag down. It must have occurred to him that after what had happened, Cheryl wouldn't exactly be his greatest fan. Plus, Joel would be needing his own bed back when he got home. No room at the inn. The first sign of even vague sensitivity Walker had displayed since he'd turned up. But it was Cheryl who seemed to be on his mind.

"Got fight in her, your sister," Walker was saying. "I like that." Then caught the warning in Brendan's eye. "Not like that," he said, fast enough.

"What happened?" Brendan asked him.

Walker sat down on one of the chairs, making himself right at home, as always.

"What do you think? Lied through my teeth."

"And?"

"She officially hates me," Walker said. "Job done." He didn't sound that heartbroken about it.

Brendan nodded slightly. He could imagine the kind of tongue-whipping Cheryl had handed out to him, if he'd taken the rap for the whole disaster.

"Good," he said, softening. Sorted, then.

He went over, punched the guy on the shoulder, the nearest he would get to a thank you. Walker smiled back. Not one of those smiles that drove Brendan mental, that made him wonder exactly what it was that Walker wanted, but more of a reflex. A recognition that they'd been in the wars together. And come out with not much more than detention. Brendan sat down next to him.

"Course, I'm homeless now," Walker said, philosophically.

"Yeah," Brendan said, looking down at his hands. There were always casualties.

"Don't suppose you know any decent 'otels around here, do you?" Walker asked, sounding hopeful.

Brendan had seen it coming. He sat back. "Not around here," he said.

"Well," Walker said, "s'pose the digs I was in last night weren't too bad." He smiled at Brendan. His cat's smile. Brendan realized Walker had probably spent last night, what there was of it, in his own bed. Something made him wonder if Walker wanted Brendan to invite him to stay there. He looked back at him, meeting his gaze.

"No," he said, "I meant you. I don't want you around here."

Walker wasn't easy to read. But Brendan had an instinct that behind his pale composure, he was genuinely angry. His eyes flickered, electric. But he hid it well.

"Actually, I was thinking about staying on," he said, sounding upbeat. "I've got a few deals going on." He looked back, steady, without blinking. An offer. It always felt that Walker was trying to offer him something. He just wasn't sure what.

Brendan shook his head. "U-uh," he said. No way.

"What, cos of this?" Walker asked, openly irritated now. "Employee gets a scratch? Sister throws a tantrum?"

Christ, Brendan felt tired. Why did everyone seem to want to break his balls, even this guy, who had no right? He sat forward. Between his hands was the white castle, which had been with him all night. He turned it over between his fingers. Walker noticed.

"Those castle walls aren't letting anyone in," he said, quiet.

Brendan felt a need to give him something. "She doesn't trust you Walker, my own sister doesn't trust you. I can't do business with you around, it's simple."

Walker seemed to consider this. Then laughed. Shifted tack. Like a man opting for Plan B.

"Fine," he said. "If that's how you feel about it." He stood up, picking up the single skanky sports bag he'd arrived with.

"It is," Brendan said, getting up.

Walker looked at him. Paused. "I had plans for us," he said, back behind his usual composure, but with an undertone of regret. "Shame." Held out his hand to Brendan.

Brendan looked at it, but didn't take it. Then looked up, dismissing Walker without words. But the fucker got the last touch in. Brendan felt himself slapped him on the back by Walker's narrow hand. It reverberated through his body.

"You've got my number," Walker said.

And he was gone, as suddenly and as inexplicably as he'd arrived, his shadow disappearing down the corridor. Brendan watched him go. He felt a sense of relief, as the dark energy that Walker seemed to carry round with him receded. This was what he'd wanted, right? Back to business as usual. Himself, Cheryl, Joel, Lynsey, the club. It was what Cheryl wanted, anyway, insisted on it, and he'd have no peace until she got it. What Joel wanted. What Lynsey wanted, for all he knew. It had been insane, taking some guy in off the street, just because he seemed to understand Brendan for what he was, to accept it. To have no interest in trying to make him a better man.

The chess piece was still in his hand. Looking around to find a bin, Brendan tossed it away. It was trash. He didn't need it.

But for a moment, he was filled with an intense and yawning sense of isolation. And boredom.


	6. Chapter 6: No family, no ties

Thanks to my Guest and Ginafisch for reviewing. Here's another slice of my completely pointless rehash of Bralker canon, for anyone who wants it.

**Part 6: No family, no ties, no commitments**

_Walker_

It was like Santa Claus and all the reindeers coming early, getting that call. That voice. Equal parts dark and light.

"Walker? Ring me back."

Just that. But Jesus, were words ever so sweet? I gave it an hour, dialled. Don't like to seem too eager.

"I'm buying you coffee," he said.

"I'm flattered," I said.

A pause. I think he might have been smiling, in spite of himself. "Tomorrow, three o'clock," he said, and rang off.

I knew he couldn't manage without me. OK, it had ended in a bit of a car crash, but it was a setback, not a write-off. Something just told me, my gut, my instinct, my balls, something. Seriously, once I'd got over my fury at being dismissed, I'd been optimistic. Anyway, I'm flexible, there are ways and ways. I was thinking about sending in a patsy, a third party, though that wouldn't have been half so much fun. But my associates had been getting … twitchy. There had been some talk. Budgets, targets, yada yada. So when it came, that call, let's just say it was right on cue.

I'd been following him, obviously. And I think I can honestly say he had done absolutely nothing. Or nothing interesting. A man like Brady, and all I'd seen him do were a couple of trips to the solicitors over some crappy little property he owned in the village. I checked it out, and it seemed tediously clean. That, and he ran a bar for some shitty local festival. The darkest it got was some shiz with the local punk who supplied the boy Joel with weed grown in his Aunty McQueen's loft. That's it. Not exactly homicide. Christ, even I was getting bored, and watching Brendan Brady was my all-time favourite pastime.

But I knew it couldn't last. I'd given him a glimpse of something much better than this. A glimpse of what life could be like when you stir things up, and you've got someone to stir them up with. And it was Cheryl who didn't trust me. Not Brendan. That wasn't what he'd said, when we sat together in the hospital and he got rid of me, that he didn't trust me. It was all down to her. And he wouldn't stay under her thumb forever. So yeah, I knew that call had to come. In the end, he lasted three weeks.

When I came walking into the meet-up, Brendan was already waiting, two coffees in hand. I like a man who's punctual and feeds me caffeine. He had his back to the door, talking to his sister. I walked right up.

"Boo," I said. He never even flinched. Just handed me a cup, over his shoulder.

"Thanks," I said.

"You're welcome," he said. Almost sounded pleased to see me.

Which is more than I can say for his sister. She was sitting looking up at me with her mouth open, like a guppy, eyes like poached eggs.

"You all right Cheryl?" I asked her. "Look like you've had a fright."

The last time I'd seen Cheryl Brady, she'd told me she wanted to kill me. I'd been telling her to blame me for the whole Joel thing. She'd been telling me I was a lying scumbag. The usual sweet talk. Funnily enough, I'd never found her as attractive as I did when she was making it crystal clear that she hated my guts. Though actually, I fancied her little mate more, the nurse. Lynsey. Who also frankly looked like she wanted me dead, but I don't usually let that put me off. Maybe I just have a thing for uniforms. And people who hate me. The sex can be amazing, anyway. On both counts.

But I think I can honestly say that after my first taste of life at Casa Brady, I'd lost any interest in the lovely Cheryl. I could see the rift between them now, her and her brother. It was obvious. Job done. They were at the counter right now, having some kind of family set-to that looked none too harmonious. Almost certainly over me. All I had to do was keep digging away at it.

Brendan left her and walked over, looking decisive. Sat down opposite me, arms along the back of the sofa, occupying the space. Dominating it. Taking back control in some way, seemed like.

"She still looking at me?" I asked him.

He looked away in her direction. Then back. "Daggers." It seemed to amuse him. Him and me, against her.

I sat forward, gave my coffee a stir, watched it swirl. "So, apart from annoying your sister … what do you want?" Tried to make it sound like I was none too happy to be there. I was pretty convincing, though I say so myself.

He didn't really seem to have an answer for that. Scratched his nose. "I want your help with something," he said. Awkward.

"I'm listening," I said.

He laughed openly, then. He seemed weirdly excited. It's nice. To be wanted.

"Good … good," he said, as I looked back at him over the top of the cup. Then, "Want a job?"

* * *

Turns out that with Cheryl off doing some course, they were short at the club. It wasn't quite what I was expecting. But I guess it was better than nothing. You can't be choosy, not when you're fresh out of jail. Like I was. Sort of.

"What's in the job description?" I asked, eyeing him. There had to be more to it.

He shrugged. "I just need someone in charge I can trust not to burn the place down, while I'm off doing …" he tailed off, "business."

This sounded better. One, because he'd just used the T word, probably without even knowing it. Two, because it showed he knew Joel wasn't up to the job. And three, because it sounded like he was about to get himself up to his balls in something.

"What business?" I asked him, giving him my best smile. He paused for a moment, drinking his coffee.

"I'm diversifying," he said, smooth and quiet. Serious.

Interesting.

* * *

So the very next day, while Brendan was out doing his diversification with some lawyer over coffee, I started my new job. A set of honest-to-god keys in my hand to open up, all legit, or in a manner of speaking. The place was empty. Joel late, as always. But it's the early bird that catches the wriggly. I let myself into the office, always in semi-darkness. Soaked up the scent of Eau de Brady. Threw the keys down on the desk and settled myself slowly into the boss's black leather chair. Comfy. I could get used to this, I thought, leaning back. There was a weird feeling in that office, though. Inescapable. Something tense. And I had no idea why I thought this, but something erotic. What the fuck was it? The dark, the secrecy, the black leather and chrome, the glass desk? But man, people had had sex in that office. It reeked of it.

And right then, Joel and his nubile blonde girl came falling in the door, tearing each other's clothes off, and she wasn't wearing much to start with. He was feeling better, then.

"Well, good morning," I said, as they sprang apart, stunned.

"What are ye doing here?" Joel was breathless, irritated. Absence hadn't made the heart grow fonder, then.

I turned the desk lamp around to shed light on a pretty good pair of exposed young legs, and they weren't Joel's.

"Enjoying the view," I said, with a smile.

He exploded, course. I meant him to. "Get the hell out before ah make ye!"

I flashed him a grin. "Brendan hasn't told you yet, has he?"

"Bout wha'?"

"Well," I said, "this is gonna be fun."

And leant back to enjoy the look on their faces, as the tuppenny dropped.

* * *

It was obvious from the start that having dealt with Cheryl, Joel was the next problem on my list. As soon as Brendan got in, the kid started with the bitching. I sat and watched, more secure now in knowing that Brendan actually wanted me around. Foot well and truly in the door, welcomed in, and given breakfast, no less.

"You have got to be joking!" Joel yelled.

"Wanna take this in my office?" Brendan said, smoothly, barely looking up. It seemed to enrage the lad even more.

"You can't just bring people in behind mah back! Especially him!" the spittle was practically flying. "What part of own half a club doesn't click with you?"

Brendan seemed unmoved. "Why don't you take care of your half," he said, "and then I'll take care of my half." He indicated me, with his hand. His half. It had a ring to it.

"No!" the kid blundered on. "No, no, it doesn't work that way! When you're not here, ah'm in charge!"

Brendan laughed. "Yeah, like I'm gonna make that mistake a second time." He lifted his coffee mug to his lips, casually.

"When he was last here I got stabbed," Joel threw back at him. "Now I'd say that's a pretty big mess up to me."

"Healed, didn't it?" I threw in for good measure. It didn't go down too well. Brendan gave me a look.

"Anyway," the boss said, "I've got some business to take care of."

Right off, Joel was following him across the room, like a little dog. "What business?"

Jesus Christ, was he velcroed to Brendan's hip? I started to wonder if we were gonna have to get a baby buggy for him. And it would seriously cramp my style. But Brendan seemed to be used to dealing with it.

"None of yours," he said. "Now while I'm off doing this, I'm gonna need someone in charge who can take care of themselves, somebody I can trust. Now evidently that's not gonna be you, so Walker," he turned to me, "do me the honours." I bowed my head. Whatever the boss wants. "Ladies," he said, patting Joel on the shoulder, "play nice." And he left us to it.

I'd never been a bar manager before. There's a few other things on my CV, before the prison stint, but never this. Seemed like it could be a laugh, for a while. But let's just say I had some concerns about my workforce.

While I sat in the office with my feet up, dealing with the occasional phone call, it was impossible not to be aware that Little Macbeth and his Lady were plotting something in the bar. I listened out. Low voices, murmuring, him resentful, her wheedling. She wanted him to take a day off. He reckoned he was doing all the donkey work, just because he signed a clip board for a few deliveries. I decided the rebellion needed to be put down. For now.

I came out to stand in the doorway. "My ears burning?" I said, as they froze, and the conversation dried. I walked over. "So … Joel," I started. "How you been, how's the scar?"

"Yeah fine," he said, his bottom lip jutting out like a sulky kid. Lifted his shirt, and gave me an eyeful of his pasty belly. "What do you think?"

Personally, I thought it looked like someone had installed a zip in it. Nasty. I guess it was an attempt to make me feel guilty. Or maybe it was for the benefit of his little blonde piece.

"Sexy innit," I said, turning to her. "You know, I've got one too. We're practically twins." Then stopped. I realized I probably needed to know a bit more about the co-conspirator. "I'm sorry," I said to her, putting on a bit of the charm, "it's just my twisted sense of humour. Where are my manners, we haven't been properly introduced."

"I'm Joel's girlfriend," she said, pulled a sarcastic face, and went back to examining her nails. Well, that was me told.

"And does Joel's girlfriend have a name?"

"Theresa," she said, reluctantly. I dug for more with an expectant look. I already knew that much. "Theresa McQueen," she said, eventually. So, that was interesting.

"McQueen," I said. "As in Myra?" The moment I dropped the name, I knew I had Joel's full attention.

"Yeah," Theresa said, "she's my auntie." Small place. But how convenient.

"Heard she got sent down recently for growing weed," I said to her. A bottle seemed to slip out of Joel's hands onto the bar. "How's she coping in prison?"

Theresa seemed to take this is normal conversation. Anyone might have thought prison wasn't an alien concept to her family.

"Yeah, she's great," she said, becoming more chatty. "She's innocent, though," she added hastily, almost as an afterthought.

"I know that," I said, reassuring. "And you know that." I turned to look at Joel, "And he knows that too, don't you Joel?"

He could barely meet my eye. I swear beads of sweat broke straight out on his brow. Because I knew all about this. They got busted, him and his punk-ass mate, and Aunty Myra took the rap to keep them out. Everyone from the judge to the court cleaner knew it was bogus, but what can you do? Some people are determined to go down. To sacrifice themselves for the people they care about, no matter how unworthy they seem. And I had a certain amount of respect for that. But I wondered what Theresa would say if she'd known that it was her boyfriend put her aunty in jail. I guessed there would be trouble in paradise.

"Who told you about Myra?" he asked, cagey, sullen.

"Brendan," I told him. He looked like he didn't know where to put himself.

That's right boy, I thought. Brendan tells me everything. And what he doesn't, some of us are pretty capable of working out for ourselves.

* * *

I guess when it comes down to it, I underestimated our Joel. I got lazy. Complacent, comfortable. Never a good idea. But I was so well in with Brendan, I mean – what could possibly go wrong?

I even arranged a meet-up with an associate, and nearly let the kid hear. He came charging over from the bar and got right up in my face.

"Who was that?" he demanded. But I just fronted it out.

"Would you believe, wrong number?" I said,

"That's the work phone."

"Maybe it was a work call."

He looked disgusted. "Aye, whatever." And was just on his way out. I felt a need to kick back.

"You never got to know your Dad too well, did you?" I said to him. He stopped dead. Turned around.

"Don't go there," he said. Oh yeah, that's right, Joel. Because … isn't your Brendan the one who put your Dad away for murder?

"What is it?" I said, peering into his silent but pretty obvious misery. Brady was all he had, I guessed. "You afraid something's gonna come between you and Brendan?" I asked him. "You scared someone's gonna take him away from you?" It didn't take a mindreader to know I'd dug right into an open wound. In his heart of hearts, he knew Brendan just didn't care that much.

"Keep rattling the cage, mate," he spat. "See what happens." It's always the people who pretend to feel least, who feel most, I've found. I laughed.

"You know, you and I, we're not too different. Got a lot in common, actually." I got up and walked over. "I didn't have much of a family." That wasn't completely true, actually. I have family. But he didn't need to know that. "Way I see it," I went on, "no family, no ties, no commitments." I leant in, almost whispered into his ear. "Makes you untouchable."

And I left him to stew on his own weakness. But I don't think I'd understood what this was about. Not fully. This wasn't just a Daddy complex. Nothing about Brendan Brady is ever simple.

Later, Brendan came back to the bar. Came to talk to me, as always. Easy, casual. It was going great. He put his cup down.

"So … when I ask you about your contacts in the property game, people I should be talking to, you're gonna say …"

I feigned a bit of reluctance. Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen, know what I mean? "Last time … er, look, last time, things didn't go so well. You don't wanna get burned," I said.

He looked thoughtful at that. "I wanna get things moving," he said.

I didn't hold out any longer. Dug in my pocket for some cards, and oh look, here were some I'd prepared earlier. While digging a bit deeper with him.

"Just out of idle curiosity, why the rush?" I asked him. I still hadn't got to the bottom of this, exactly what he was up to. But he wasn't about to enlighten me.

"I'm in a to-do kind of mood," he said.

I gave up and held out a card. "This is the guy you need to be speaking to," I said. "Ed Morrison. He knows more about property than anyone else, son." He had also been done for dodgy deals in the past, and was now working under certain … co-operative arrangements with interested parties. If Brendan did anything out of line, Ed would be sure to let those parties know. Or lose his reputation, his business and his family. It was a fair choice.

Brendan looked pleased. "See?" he said. "I knew you'd come in useful, eh?" Without really seeming to think, he batted me on the nose with the card. It was … intimate. Christ, it was almost playful. I smiled back. Call it a moment.

But Joel had been watching. We turned to look at him, standing there with a smirk the size of the Forth Bridge plastered across his mouth.

"Wha?" Brendan asked him.

"I didn't say anything," was all he said. But it was obvious. He was getting certain … ideas, about me and Brendan. Whether they drove him nuts or turned him on, it was hard to say. But I'd say he felt threatened. There are some things no boy should do for his Daddy. But maybe he thought I would.

Looking back, there was a feeling from then on that it was all gonna kick off. I should have spotted it. That night, I sat flirting in the bar with another of the McQueen women. There seemed to be a lot of them. Mercedes, this one was, and she was pretty much anyone's for a bottle of Pinot Grigio, specially since she'd been spectacularly dumped by her footballer boyfriend at her own wedding. Anyway, I bought the wine, and she provided the smokescreen. The club was buzzing, actually, the music thumping, people everywhere. Not the dead place I'd come to find him in just a month ago. It had just needed the right person in charge. Fresh blood. Me, apparently.

I knew Brendan was watching us from door, me and the McQueen woman, leaning in to each other, making eye contact. I was buzzing a bit as well, to be honest. There was an atmosphere. Charged. I wondered if he could feel it as well, over there where he was standing. The feeling of possibility. That question, one of the Big Questions humans ask over and over. That moment where two people figure out if they might be going to have Sex.

Then Joel walked in and across the bar. Strutted, more like, right past us, and over to Brady. I kept them in my field of vision while Mercedes wittered on, flattering herself that she might get lucky. A minute later, there seemed to be some kind of argument. Brendan lurched at Joel, sudden and violent, and had the kid pinned against the door frame with one hand to the face before anyone knew what was happening. People turned to look. Conversations died.

"Know your place, Joel," Brendan was snarling at him. "Know. Your. Place."

Joel fought him off. His face was bright red, burning. He'd been royally humiliated in front of a packed club. Can't do much for your ego.

"You're not thinking with your head," I heard Joel say, angry, frustrated.

"You're only here because I let you be," Brendan said, putting him down, as he always did. "Don't forget that."

Then Brendan walked out, passing within an inch of me.

"What's goin' on there then?" the lovely Mercedes asked me, but more interested in pouring herself another generous glass.

"Boys being boys," I told her. But I realized I probably needed to find out.

* * *

I disentangled myself, and went over and found Joel in the office, sulking.

"Everything all right, boss?" I said. And I should have thought more of it. Because I thought that would get a reaction. But he just seemed flustered. Then exaggeratedly calm. Not usually a good sign.

"Club's busy," he said. "So, you finished with Mercedes, then?" He seemed nervous.

"What?" I said.

"The club is heaving," he repeated, for no apparently good reason.

"Then why are you hiding in here?" I asked him, walking over and looking down at him. But it didn't seem to work this time. He was getting cocky. I should have asked why.

"I don't hide," he said, getting up. "Unlike some people." He seemed about to walk out.

"You can't just do that," I said, stopping him. "You can't just throw something cryptic out like that and walk off! Where's the fun?" He turned around but was obviously keeping his mouth well zipped. "Ah, I get it," I said. "Told you to be on your best behavior, has he? What's he done? Bribed you with a new toy?"

But there it was again. That fucking smirk, same as before.

"I'm looking at the new toy," he said, right into my face. "And sooner or later he's gonna get tired of playing with it. So excuse me."

He was starting to become a seriously annoying little prick, and he'd started from a pretty low base. I was getting sick of his jealousy. His suspicion that maybe I could give Brendan the one thing he couldn't. He was doing my head in, to be honest. Lucky then that I had a night booked off. I needed to get out of there. De-stress. De-brief. In all senses of the word.

When I left the bar that night, I went for a walk. A nice, long walk, well away from there. I'd had the text, _Waiting for you_, and she was good for it. A very close associate of mine. She got out of her car as I walked over. Hardly recognized her in the blonde wig, but we had history, and I had every intention of reminding her. Put my arms around her waist and pulled her into a kiss. She didn't give much resistance. It was a few seconds before we came up for breath.

"What was that for?" she said, through narrowed eyes. But her arms had gone round my neck. Her body seemed pliable.

"Got to make it look convincing," I said. Gave her a smile.

"No one's watching, are they?" she glanced around, on her guard. But I stopped her.

"You never know," I said, pulling her in again. She tasted of fruit. Cherries, I think. Don't know if it was the lipstick. "You got a room booked?" I asked, when our lips parted.

She just raised an eyebrow, and nodded.

"Gonna fill me in then? On what you've been up to?" she said, eyebrows arched.

"Been looking forward to filing my report for days," I told her.

She pulled back a bit, and gave me a look. "That is the worst line I ever heard," she said. "You been spending too much time with the bad boys?"

For a second there I thought I'd overplayed it, blown my chances. But in a way, she was right. All that time with Brady was re-wiring my head. I'd been feeling edgy all night. Just something to do with being watched. With what I knew was in his head when he did. I felt like there were wasps in my bloodstream. I needed to get them out. And the best way I knew was to get laid.

"You're right," I said. "Sorry." Put on my best "I'm all right, me" face. "Am I forgiven?"

She rolled her eyes a little. Then fixed back on me. "Expect we'll find a way for you to make it up to me," she said.

I felt her hand reach for mine. I felt that sense of triumph, and expectation, right in my groin, when you know the question's been answered, that Big Question, and the answer is yes. And we headed off for a mini bar, an update on my activities, and a nice all expenses paid bed.

But I didn't look round either. What a fucking idiot.

After all, what did I say? No friends, no ties, no commitments. Makes you untouchable.

I dropped my guard, for one night. And you always have to pay.


	7. Chapter 7: Not like that, like this

****Thanks again to my lovely Guest, Ginafisch and kylikki for reviewing this - I'm glad you're enjoying it. Here's another slice, in which, ahem, something actually happens. Not my best chapter ever, but I've been really busy! Here we go ...

**Part 7: Not like that, like this**

_Brendan_

Brendan was in the process of pouring baby formula down the kitchen sink plughole when Joel came down. Lynsey had delighted them all by moving her boyfriend of two days into the flat with his screaming baby and then by trying to push him out to make room. He was determined to claim back his space, his life, from the people who were trying to tell him what the fuck he could do. His heart didn't exactly leap with joy at the sight of Joel, after what had happened the previous night. But the lad seemed strangely calm. Almost amused.

"You making our new guests feel welcome, then?" he said, watching Brendan shake out the container.

"I've got someone coming over to change the locks today," Brendan played along, "so …"

Joel just leaned his back against the kitchen top, and waited. Finally, he spoke. "Is there any better feeling than being proved right?" he said.

"What are ye talking about?"

"Me and Walker had a wee chat last night," Joel said.

This sounded ominous. Brendan sighed. He didn't want to have to keep fighting Joel over this. "I'm not interested Joel." But he couldn't be put off.

"No commitment, no family, no ties," Joel said, suggestively. Brendan was losing patience. It was hardly criminal that Walker was a loner. It was starting to seem like a sound philosophy.

"And?" he said, shrugging.

"And then there's this," Joel said. He looked pleased with himself. Handed Brendan a small laminated card. "Found it under the kiddies' sweetie wrappers."

Brendan looked down at it. A membership card, for some fitness club. Nothing special. The picture showed a blonde woman, wearing a hat. Pretty.

Name: Mrs Alice Walker.

* * *

He should have known. He should have known, all along, that it couldn't be simple. Not for him. He couldn't just have a … a colleague. A fellow traveller, whatever. A friend even. Just that. Nice and easy, no big deal. It always had to be a mess. It always had to be feelings, feelings, feelings, betrayal, treachery, lies, fucking mess, until he literally wanted to burn his life down and cover it in concrete.

He'd only called Walker back because he'd been stung, badly, after he left. Partly that, anyway. Had made a complete twat of himself. Someone had cheated him out of eighty grand. He didn't even care about the money - it wasn't important. He didn't even care about being played, he had known, in his heart and his balls, somewhere, that he was being played. Playing, and being played, by this guy, dancing round each other, had been his life for nearly two years. He almost lived for it, the flash in the guy's eyes, stroppy, sky blue. The arch of an eyebrow, teasing, wanton. The whole look of him, that made Brendan's gut twist, every time. He was starting to realize, finally, and way way too late, that maybe the guy had been a worthy opponent. But what had really stung, cut him to the quick until he bled, was that Brendan had tried to make a move on him. And it was stupid, just fucking stupid, and arrogant. He didn't know why he'd done it - it had ended badly between them last time, it always did. But he'd made a move, and been rejected. He'd just wanted to touch him, kiss him, own him, and he'd thought that if he did, he would come running back. He always had before. And instead this guy had run off with his eighty grand, and his pride … and with someone else. The last person he'd ever expected. Some nobody, a loser, a pathetic little guy. He'd seen them kissing. And for a second, the world had stopped. Getting kicked in the gut and the balls every night inside had been more endurable. And he'd deserved it all. When the world started again, it was just a greyer, colder place.

So he'd rung Walker. He couldn't imagine anyone more different. He needed no protecting, could look after himself. Seemed to need nothing, and no one. It was a whole different ball game, one between free agents. They weren't sharing razors, or a bed, or even a roof this time. He had no idea where Walker was camped out, but this was strictly … business. Yeah, after the last two years, life with Walker should be a walk in the park.

Enough people had tried to warn him. "You and him together, you're bad news," Cheryl had said.

"I just want to move on," he'd said.

"Your moving on involves a lot of collateral damage," she said, as if he was radioactive or something.

"Without hurting anyone, I wanna move on without hurting anyone!" He couldn't work out why everyone, all the time, was on his back about this guy. He just wanted him around. An ally, against the lot of them. That was all.

Then she was talking shit about love. He raised his eyes to heaven. Why couldn't she get it, that this had nothing to do with love. Nothing. He wanted nothing to do with it, ever again. It was like the opposite of love, something so far removed from what she thought she knew that it might as well be on fucking Saturn.

"Is he even gay?" she said. As if that even mattered. He just … he needed some help. Walker was easy on the eye, that's all, and the head. He didn't try to weigh Brendan down.

"I didn't pass judgment when you brought some witless reject home last night," he snapped at her, eventually, "so do me a favour? Leave me alone."

And after that, she pretty much did. If she chose to take that as a statement that he wanted the guy's arse, that was up to her. Brendan honestly didn't care anymore. It was his business, no one else's.

But Joel was even worse, like the proverbial bear with a headache.

"It's important in a business like this, that you surround yourself with people that you trust," Brendan told him, in one of his less surly moments, trying to explain.

"And you trust Walker?" he said. "You hardly know him."

"I know him enough. He's useful."

But Joel just couldn't seem to let it go. "Isn't it better to keep people like that at arms' length?" he asked. "Not tell them everything."

"Like wha?" Brendan. It was obvious he had something on his mind.

"Like how Myra McQueen got sent down for doing weed."

Brendan frowned. "Why would I wanna tell him that?" he said. He had never said a word to Walker about Myra McQueen and her Happy Loft, and he never would. Ask no questions, tell no lies. But maybe, with hindsight, he should have asked why Joel was asking.

He'd thought he had finally got there, to the promised land, that Cheryl was off his back, and Joel was over it, that it was all OK. But just when they started to progress the property deals, it blew up again. And it was over nothing.

Brendan had just been … grateful. Walker was coming good. He was a good lad. But Joel saw something. Nothing. A gesture. An unguarded moment. Something he'd always done, he'd always touched, a pat, a tap – it meant nothing. But Joel took it all the wrong way. And it just … turned things inside out. Brendan felt like his head was melting. So he quite liked the guy, so what? And OK, for once in his life, he couldn't get a handle on which side of the bed Walker liked to lie, and he usually had no problem. But it was irrelevant. It didn't mean they were fucking. Or had fucked, or ever would fuck, past, present or future. But it was starting to infect his brain.

That night, he stood in the bar and watched Walker ooze charm over Mercedes McQueen. Brendan remembered he had done that, once. A long time ago. A lifetime. He had been hiding something. She was the most convenient person to hide it with, that day. Yeah, watching Walker was a real blast from the past.

Then there was Joel again, walking over, cocky, interrupting his thoughts.

"S'pose if it's put on a plate, you'll eat it," he said, though it wasn't clear who he thought was lusting over who. Insinuating, like a scab that he just couldn't resist picking until it was raw. Brendan looked over at them, Walker and Mercedes McQueen, talking, drinking, laughing, leaning in. "Then again, I don't think he cares much what's put in front of him." Joel shrugged, with fake nonchalance. Turned to Brendan. "Might be a good thing. What's that one about not mixing business with pleasure?"

Sweet Jesus Christ, Brendan thought, here it was again. What was it with everyone trying to direct his fucking sex life? They were obsessed. Why didn't they go bother themselves with someone else? With Lynsey, who was throwing herself away on some stupid guy whose brains were in his pants, and thought she was living the dream. Why didn't they all go tell her who to fuck, and how. He felt close to breaking point. Crossed his arms, to try to stop himself doing something to the lad he would regret.

"You ever hear the one about keeping your mouth shut?" he said to Joel. "You heard that?"

But apparently not. Joel ploughed on, oblivious of Brendan's rapidly darkening mood.

"Do you know what a blind spot is?" he asked.

"Go on," Brendan said. It seemed like it would take the apocalypse to stop Joel, anyway.

"It's not seeing something," Joel said. "Until bang, car crash."

It's a shame Joel hadn't had a bit more of the foresight that he lectured Brendan on. Because Brendan had cracked. Lashed out. He had put him in his place in front of a crowd of people, and then stormed out, past Walker and Mercedes, knowing Walker was watching him go.

And then next morning, Joel had had the last laugh. He put a bomb under the whole thing.

"And then there's this," the kid had said, handing him a card.

Kiger Lodge Health And Fitness. Mrs Alice Walker.

Brendan found himself alone, as Joel faded away, leaving this to sink in. Brendan looked at it for a while, his head on one side, as the floor felt like it shifted under his feet. It occurred to him that the blonde woman reminded him a little bit of Rae. Rae, who had been third wheel, a long time back.

What had he always said? Trust no one, and no one will ever hurt you. He had let things slide, and he'd been a fucking idiot. Plus, he'd been wrong about Walker. The wife and kids bit. And he hated being wrong. He felt a dull red sense of self-hatred and anger flare up inside his chest, so strong it almost knocked him sideways. He gritted his teeth.

* * *

Sat in the club that morning, Brendan waited for Walker to appear. The place seemed darker again, already. He felt a familiar hatred of it. It had faded since Walker had been back, but he here it was again, the old black dog biting his shoulder. And it was ridiculous. The guy meant nothing to him. Nothing. But when Walker came strutting in, heading over towards the office, Brendan couldn't stop the bitterness rising in his mouth.

"Boo," he said, coming up behind Walker, breathing it onto the back of his neck.

"You know, you really shouldn't do that," Walker said, implying, as he always seemed to, that anything might happen.

"There's a lot of things I shouldn't do," Brendan said. The words came out of his mouth sounding like a threat, not a promise.

Walker turned around, looking wary, as if he sensed the change, like when the wind changes and summer disappears in a heartbeat. But Brendan was ready for him. He waved a slip of paper under Walker's nose.

"What's that?" Walker asked, wary.

"It's a job." Walker took it from his hand, carefully. Brendan turned his back and walked away from him, waiting for the inevitable explosion. It came.

"Leeds?!" Walker said. Brendan picked up his coffee from the bar and turned to look at him.

"And that's a problem, because …?" he asked him.

"No problem," Walker said, but it sounded like it came from between his teeth.

"You got any other arrangements?" Brendan said, pushing him. "Commitments, anything?" He raised his eyebrows.

"I said, it's not a problem," Walker said.

"Good," Brendan said to him. "That's good. I do like me a happy workforce." When he looked at Walker, he felt a sense of something like hatred that almost disturbed him. "Well," he said, wanting him gone, "go on. Don't wanna be late. See yer."

And experienced a sense of relief, as Walker disappeared, with a shrug and a last look back. A sense of relief that was mixed with something that felt like … disappointment. A feeling he hadn't had for … about three weeks.

* * *

At least Walker had turned out to be useful. While he was out at Brendan's beck and call, Brendan was progressing the things that really mattered. The business. Everything else was just a distraction. And it seemed like this Ed Morrison guy was the right person to get him a foothold in the property market, though truthfully, it's nothing he couldn't have done without letting Walker in. He'd been a damn fool, and he wouldn't be again. But talk of the devil. Walker came storming back in while the meeting was still in progress. He didn't seem to be enjoying the game.

"I need to have a word with you," he said, interrupting them in mid flow.

"That can wait," Brendan said, dismissing him with a finger, without even a glance in his direction.

"No actually, it can't," Walker sounded full of controlled anger. His nose was out of joint, then. Good.

"Can't?" Brendan asked, showing unconcern.

Tension and dislike crackled between them like electricity under a shower of cold water. Enough to get Ed Morrison up out of his seat and making a quick exit.

"I think I'll come back another time," he said, gathering up his files. "And if you want to get in contact with me …"

"I'll call ye," he said. "Thank you Eduardo." Deliberately casual, flippant. He shook the guy's hand, and watched him leave. Then leant back in his seat. He helped himself idly to nuts from the bowl in front of him. Cracked them between his teeth.

"How was the trip?" he asked Walker, idly.

Walker held up the slip. "This place doesn't exist," he said. "This place … is a Chinese restaurant."

Brendan let a brief silence develop and he relished the moment.

"I know," he said, eventually, throwing another peanut into his mouth. It was designed to infuriate. It worked.

"You know?"

"Yeah," Brendan said, lightly, amused. "Yeah, I know."

Walker was starting to crack. He took a breath. "So, what, you sent me to Leeds for a takeaway?" he asked.

Brendan got up slowly and walked over. The game was over. He was suddenly bored of playing with Walker now.

"I sent you to Leeds because I can," he said. "That money in your back pocket? Who put it there?"

He was top dog. He would always be top dog. In that moment, he realized he hated Walker for even daring to think he was worthy to stand alongside him.

"Don't you dare fuck me off, Brendan," Walker said, his anger breaking through. "You are well off the mark if you think you can treat me like this, son."

That word again. Son. It was like a trigger in his brain. If he could have smacked Walker right then, in the middle of the club, he would have. But he was better off containing it.

"Yeah," he said, his voice lazy, sarcastic. "Message received. Now, why don't you run along home to the wife and kids." It was like dropping a depth charge into the conversation. He held Walker at arm's length, his mouth open in fake shock. "Huh? Huh?" he said, watching realization dawn over Walker's face. He even smiled, Walker, a sort of admission of defeat. That fucking Mona Lisa smile. "I know," Brendan whispered to him. "I know."

He barged past Walker's shoulder. His winning card. But couldn't help wondering why victory always seemed to taste like arsenic.

* * *

Walker followed Brendan into the office. Mother of God, he was predictable. Here it came, Brendan thought. Lies, justifications. More lies. Blah, blah, blah, whatever. Exactly what he'd been trying to escape. It had been hard enough with someone who actually … mattered. The betrayal. This guy, he didn't give two shits about. He was just supposed to make Brendan's life easy. But it was turning out to be a fucking migraine. He felt a need to be rid of the whole thing. To be alone again. To feel invincible. He missed his old self.

But Walker's reaction wasn't exactly what he'd been expecting. He just followed him in slowly, and came and stood in front of the desk. Hands in his pockets. Looking down at him, with that sphinx-like face. The music from outside thumped. Brendan let the silence between them develop.

"Have I hurt your feelings?" Walker said, eventually. His voice soft, but sarcastic.

Oh Jesus. So now the guy thought Brendan had wanted him. And was trying to use it against him.

Brendan shrugged. "Like I said - you and me? It's just business."

There was another pause, during which Walker hardly moved. Just stood between him and the door.

"I think" Walker said, "… you're all wound up." His voice was taunting. "You're all … excited."

Brendan got up. No one used sex as a weapon against him like that. He came close to him.

"I know what you are, son," he whispered, an emphasis on the last word, turning it back on him. "But you have no idea what I am. And what I'm capable of."

Because sure, he had killed a man, once. But there was so much more. Walker was treading on a volcano that would incinerate him, like it incinerated everything. He should have been running in the opposite direction. Brendan wished he would. But he didn't.

"Don't I?" Walker said. "You still haven't worked this out yet, have you? This hasn't clicked for you, has it?"

Brendan dismissed it, the attempt to draw him in. Always with the mystery, Walker. He was sick of it.

"Nothing needs to click for me," he said, his voice low, dangerous. But seems like it would take a nuclear bomb to stop Walker tonight.

"You and I, we're the same you know."

And there was something in his eyes. Walker's. Dark. Brendan's eyebrows went up.

"Yeah?" he drawled.

Seriously? It occurred to Brendan, as this sank in, that he had never thought to just ask. He wondered if actually, he hadn't wanted to know. Hadn't wanted to be tempted, not really. If it was real, it changed everything. Sex was bad for business. It fucked everything up. It was dangerous. But Walker was still talking. It came pouring out now.

"Living a lie every day of your life. Playing happy families. All the while knowing what you want," his eyes seemed black, now. A dare. He breathed the words. His mouth open. Brendan couldn't stop looking at it. "Who you want."

You poor bastard, Brendan found himself thinking. But there was no way he was getting dragged into this. It was like quicksand, sucking you down into the mess until you couldn't breathe.

"Does she know," he asked, his voice almost inaudible, "the missus?" He remembered Eileen's reaction. Toxic. Mainly because she'd realized she should have known all along.

"No," Walker said. "It's not exactly a conversation that's come up over dinner yet."

Brendan nodded, quiet. It was new but it was … nothing to him. He didn't even know if it was true. Not much the guy said was. Every instinct in his body told him put up his defences, get out of there.

But Walker must have been inside his head. His voice changed, becoming more open, making a direct appeal.

"Brendan I don't care if you believe me or not, I just want to be upfront with you."

Brendan blocked it. "So we have something in common," he said. "Woop de doo."

Walker changed tack again. "This doesn't change anything," he said.

What didn't, Brendan wondered. That the guy was … gay? That he didn't have the guts to be what he was? That he had some kind of adolescent boner for Brendan? He just didn't care about any of it. Not now. Yesterday, it might have been different. Before he stopped believing anything he said.

"You're right," he said. "It doesn't. Let me show you to the door."

But his refusal to let down his guard seemed to push Walker over the edge.

"Don't walk away from me," he said. Sounded … frustrated. Fuck, who was wound up now?

"We're done," Brendan said, dismissing it.

"Brendan!" He found hands were on him, spinning him around so his back hit the door, closing it. Walker had him pinned by the throat. He gasped for breath. The fucker. The fucker had laid hands on him. And he was stronger than he looked, for all he was lean as a whippet. Then he felt the long bony fingers relax on his neck. "We're not," Walker said, quiet. Then leant in and put his mouth against his.

Brendan didn't move, or respond. But his mind was running in circles. Fuck, when was the last time he'd let a guy put the moves on him, instead of the other way round? And like this? Was it a game? He shrank from it, like a violation. Walker's mouth felt as much like an assault as a seduction. But what do you do when you're being assaulted? Fight the fuck back.

Adrenalin fired through his veins and synapses, as he pushed Walker off. Walker's back hit the filing cabinet opposite, forcing the air out his lungs with a groan. Brendan grabbed hold of his coat. They were both fighting for breath, now.

For a second, Brendan thought about letting rip. Giving the guy the beating of his life, to show him where the lines were, the ones that no one crossed. But a switch flicked in his head. There are other ways of subduing people. Of calling them out. Literally.

"Not like that," Brendan said, his mouth close to Walker's, breathing it onto him. "Like this."

And he kissed him back. But this time it was how he liked to kiss, all mouth, and tongue, his hands in Walker's hair, rough. This was the way it happened. It was all down to him, his choice. Walker's mouth opened, his tongue banged against Brendan's, his breathing was heavy, his hands were in Brendan's hair. He knew who he wanted, no kidding. He pressed Walker back against the cabinet with his pelvis. The guy was slim and wiry, but hard. Surprisingly … hard.

Eventually Brendan broke the kiss, with a last stroke of his tongue against Walker's. Their mouths were still an inch apart.

"Well," Brendan murmured, looking at the guy's open mouth from under his eyelids. "This is … interesting."

His eyes scanned Walker's face, watching him breath, heavily. But there was something about his eyes. His pupils were blown. Brendan wasn't sure if it was lust, or … shock.

Brendan let go. Stepped back. Caught his breath. Then laughed. "Don't tell me," he said. "The wife."

There was a pause, in which Walker ran a hand through his hair, breath still coming rough and uneven through his open mouth. Then nodded, silent.

"Run home then, little pig," Brendan said. And watched, as Walker moved away, awkward, glancing back at him, and then disappeared out of the door.

"Before I blow your house down …" Brendan said to himself. He was pretty sure he heard Walker's feet stumble a bit as he took the stairs. And suddenly, he grinned. He felt amazing. He straightened his hair, and smoothed the tache. The faint tang of Walker was still in his mouth.

When he got home that night, even the sight of Lynsey and her dim useless baby daddy playing domestics couldn't annoy him. He strutted past them on the way to his bedroom.

"Why are you looking so smug?" Lynsey asked him.

"Because Lynsey," he told her, "Brendan Brady is back."

Because unless he was very much mistaken, that had been a hard on pressed against him. A nice, juicy one, beyond a man's control, something no one can fake or hide. And now he knew. No more secrets. Walker wanted him. More important, Walker wanted him more than he wanted Walker. And that put him right back where he belonged. In the driver's seat.

Oh yeah.


	8. Chapter 8: Weighing up the options

Hello Walkerites, here's another Friday slice for you. I wish I had time to write more, and spend more time on it, but I just don't! Big thanks to my 2 Guests, Ginafisch and iamthescotslamb for reviewing.

Guest 1: Put Ste in? You might like the end of this one ... ; )

Guest 2: I think on screen, what we saw did make sense - Walker never wanted Brendan, he was always faking. My version is a wee bit different.

And here we go ...

**Part 8: Weighing up the options**

_Walker_

So, Brendan Brady's little predilection. You knew I knew, right? Didn't exactly take Sherlock Holmes to work it out. Partly because the lovely Cheryl had blabbed it in front of the whole visitors' room inside, subtle as always. But I hadn't needed that. You think I hadn't noticed in the showers, when he couldn't stop himself glancing through the steam? Like I said, I know when someone's been checking out my ass. In prison, you grow eyes in the back of the head. He never acted on it. Too much at stake, I guess. I never saw him get any trouble over it, either. Not sure why. Maybe they didn't see it. Or if they did, chose not to believe it, hoodwinked by the family snaps blutacked to the wall of his cell. The rest were either scared witless, or they just wanted his business contacts and didn't give a shit where he put it, whose crumpled photo was really under his pillow. He had a kind of power you didn't challenge. The only guys who messed with him were Warren Fox's guys, and even they never traded on it. It could have gone worse for him. So yeah, I knew, of course. There was only one thing surprised me. He never seemed to have anyone.

I don't mean a fuck. I don't doubt he did, and I never questioned what he got up to after hours. But he never seemed to have … somebody. Significant other, whatever. The ones he had, I never saw them, his casuals, he never brought them back to the club, let alone the flat. And I just always assumed he'd have a boy. He seemed the type. Fond. Possessive. Lonely. And I'm usually right.

I can't even say it hadn't occurred to me to ask how far I might have to go to keep him onside. I'd thought about it. But let's just say it was a worst case scenario. Because I hated him, more than anyone has ever hated anyone. That's why I'd come here. To hate him. Hating Brendan Brady was my MO, motive, and main weapon. Getting up close and personal wasn't part of the plan. But I fucked up.

I knew something was wrong the moment I got in the morning after the row with Joel. I came bouncing in from a very satisfying night with my associate, and he seemed different, from the off. It was like doors had slammed down at the back of his eyes. His mood was filthy black. Darkness seeped out of him. Sent me off on some wild goose chase to punish me for something. So when he told me he knew about the "wife and kids", I knew, really. He was a smart guy. Giving my associate that ID had been a major balls-up. I guess it had seemed like good cover, for whichever mug came up with it. But they just didn't get it. With Brendan, if you were his, you were his alone.

And sure, OK, I wasn't that surprised the kid Joel had followed me, that was just the kind of little creep he was. But even I hadn't thought he'd break into the fucking car and rummage through the glove box. Christ. I'd been building something here. We were both supposed to be loners, ex-cons, men with secrets. And now I needed a Plan B. Actually, it might have been Plan H by then, but anyway, I needed something, and fast.

The only thing I still had to play with was the look in Brendan's face when he said those words. I'd hurt him. I think he'd wanted me, just the way I'd wanted him to want me. When he knew I'd lied, it was a knife in his gut. And I could use that. Desperate men, they do desperate things, don't they?

What does that make me? It makes me a lot of things. I'm used to leading more than one life, and there's few lines I can't cross. It makes me anything he needs me to be.

So I followed him in there. Wound him up tight. Revealed some secrets. And when he told me we were done, I pinned him against the door. And kissed him.

The kiss was just … male. There was hair, and the burn of stubble, and tongue that threatened to suck you dry and blow your mind at the same time. It was like everything about him, it was a challenge, a game, a test, a battle, and I fought back, tooth and nail, almost literally. As if my life depended on it. Which in a way, it did. The only thing that threw me was, I had a … reaction. And I don't know why. For a second there, I think my brain faded out, my mind sort of blackened, and went soft, maybe it was lack of oxygen, and the heat, because he was pressing his pelvis right up against me and I got … hard. And I heard him grunt, a kind of satisfaction, like he had the upper hand.

"Interesting," he said.

And I think for a second his hands even started to move towards my belt. I blinked, to try to clear my vision, which was fucking dancing like a migraine. My skin felt like it was burning, my pulse hammering. I had to stop it.

But I didn't have to. There must have been something. A cue, a signal, I have no clue. He stopped.

"Don't tell me," he said. "The wife …?"

I'll give him this, he never pushed it. Held his hands out, stepped back, though he still filled my field of vision. The heat and bulk of him. All I had to do was nod. And grab the chance to get out of there as damn fast as I could.

For a man who'd been left unsatisfied, it was strange to hear him laugh as I made a swift exit. It was almost like he'd already got what he wanted. For now.

I almost staggered down the steps and out into the street, legs unsteady as a fucking kitten. Ducked down into the alley alongside, and onto the back road, where no one comes. Leant against the wall, breathing hard, then bent over and hawked up spit.

I felt sick. Because I hated him, right? He made my skin crawl. I hated him. So that should not have happened. That reaction.

In the end, I put it down to adrenalin. I was pumped, acting on instinct, reacting to a change in the conditions of battle. I did what I had to do, to make him see that we were alike. That I understood. And I was in role, totally lost in it. I just got … confused. Anyway, it worked in my favour. There'd be no doubting me now. I almost persuaded myself I'd done it deliberately. Not exactly protocol, but twice as effective. I laughed. A release. Though even to me it sounded … unbalanced. I took a breath, and wandered back to my digs through the night air cold enough to dampen any fella's excitement.

Next morning, I felt a need to sort this out. Because whatever had happened the night before, I wanted it running my way. Can't say I'd slept much anyway. Up since five and out for a run, getting my head together. It works, gives me a rhythm, clears my thoughts. By the time Brendan showed up, strutting down the road like cock of the walk, I was waiting for him. And I was ready. He came to a halt, glanced at me, starting to unlock.

"I know I'm a good kisser," he said, laconic as always, "but I didn't expect you to wait for me all night."

So he was feeling good about himself. Yeah, he was loving this. Being wanted. Knowing I wanted him. Thinking he knew I wanted him, I should say. This was good. I could work with this. I followed him inside the doors. He stood and faced me. Didn't seem that desperate to get away. Also good.

"Just came over to apologize," I said. Made it sound calm. Submissive. Like I regretted it.

"Yeah?" he said, hands in pockets.

"I'm gonna leave," I said. Bit of classic reverse psychology. I waited to see if it would work.

He nodded, taking this in. "Usually, I ask people to give me six weeks notice before they leave." He was joking. His voice dry and sarcastic. I said nothing. His tone changed, suddenly. "I understand," he said, quieter. More human. "I've been there." It was working, then, the humble pie act.

"I should have been straight with you," I said.

He looked at me. After a pause, he spoke. "Now that is an unusual choice of words."

His mouth curled into something like a smile. I took my cue from him. Smiled back.

"I don't want things to be … awkward," I said. "For our business arrangements." Because the business still had to go on. That's what I was here for.

"Then don't make things awkward," Brendan said. His voice was still quiet, calm. He didn't move away. Weirdly, he had a kind of magnetism about him that morning that I hadn't felt before. I felt a desire to keep him there, keep him talking.

"Still …" I said.

But it was like something suddenly broke the mood. Like he had exhausted his ability to be patient, to understand. Or it suddenly bored him. Or scared him. He looked away.

"Look Walker," he said, "I've got a busy day, I've left the door open. It's your call." He looked at me, his eyes hooded, lazy. "I don't care either way." And he walked away.

Conversation over, then. But I was back in, that was all that mattered. Or on my way back. And closer than before, because it wasn't just my rolodex he wanted now, or my hired muscle, unless you put that another way. There's nothing quite like kissing and making up.

* * *

There was just one more thorn in my side in this set-up. The one who'd given me more trouble than a deep-fried mars bar gives a man with a heart problem. The boy Joel. Later that morning, I was holed up in the office, sending a few messages on my phone, when I heard him finally turn up. Brendan was out in the bar, lying flat on his back on a sofa, feet up, listening to music, a whiskey balanced on his chest. I guess this was his way of telling me nothing that had happened had got to him. He was untouched.

"Good news," I heard him drawl to Joel, barely opening his mouth. "We're already up on last week, which means … the extra manpower is working."

I should fucking hope so, I thought. That place had been dead when I turned up. I was good at making deals, the special offers, the meet and greet, making it feel like things were happening. I'd found I had a talent for it. People were queuing to get in. Unfortunately, Joel seemed unlikely to be approving a pay rise any time soon.

"Is that really all it takes?" he said. "He kisses you and all's forgotten?" Christ, was there anything the little fucker didn't spy on? It seemed like the sight of us doing mouth to mouth hadn't exactly done wonders for his jealousy, but it was him that never stopped going on about it, me and Brendan. Sometimes, you should be careful what you wish for. And curiosity can kill the cat. With any luck. Brendan seemed unconcerned.

"See that, did you?" he asked, lazily.

"No, lucky guess," Joel said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, as usual. "Yes, I did see it. He's been lying to the both of us."

"He never lied," Brendan said. I smiled at the sound of him backing me up. Because he'd been there, right?

"All right then, didn't tell the truth," Joel said, never one to be put off a fight.

"It's not the same," Brendan said, sounding weary. Oh yeah, he's been there. He understands.

But Joel was losing patience, now. "Brendan, if I'd done that, you'd have me breathing through a tube. The only difference between me and him is, he's gay."

I decided it was time to reveal myself. Speak of the devil and all that.

"You're not?" I asked lightly, emerging from the office.

"All right?" Brendan said.

"Hello," I said.

The double act, back in the game. This was the weirdest thing. I hated Brendan Brady. And I had big plans for him. But this – the line feed, the one-two, the pass to centre and goal kick – this worked. We were a team. Not me, not the real me, but this other me, the other Walker … he was good at this. He fitted right in. He was a friend of Brendan Brady. And even more weirdly … it felt good. For me, anyway. For Walker. Not for Joel. He turned his attention to me now, acting the Big Guy.

"You might have him wrapped around your finger," he said, "and your wife and your kids, but you've not got me. I've got you sussed, pal."

I walked over to him and sighed into his face, with exaggerated weariness. "Why don't we try and start talking like grown-ups for a second, son," I said.

"I'm not your son," he said, "and don't patronize me. Me and him own the exact same amount of the club, and that means equal say. I want you gone, so don't be here by the time I get back."

I'll give him this. He was doing his best to hold his own. Someone was growing up fast. And I couldn't help but notice, Brendan did nothing. No backup this time, nothing. Just sucked on the straw of his drink. You'd almost think it amused him, letting us fight it out. I guess Joel took that as a victory, because he was out of there like he was Braveheart or something. Feisty.

I looked at Brendan, pissed. But I still got nothing.

"Don't look at me," he said, in the sleepy drawl that suggested the whole thing bored him. "Just because I'm OK with it doesn't mean he has to be."

"This gonna be a problem?" I asked him.

"Not for me it ain't," he said, finding the straw with his mouth again and sucking up his drink.

So, my problem then. And mine to sort. But I had plenty of weapons I hadn't even started to use yet. I wasn't being beaten by some Jimmy Krankee in cheap leathers, crying to daddy every time I planned one of my moves. It was time to take Joel out of the game for good.

I followed him out into the street. Called out.

"Joel," I said, "you were spying on me."

He stopped and turned around. "Yeah, with good reason." God, he was so pleased with himself. "My gut told me there was something up with you, and I was right."

"Everybody has something in their past they regret," I said, "even you." I think I was being pretty reasonable, really.

"Don't pretend that you know me," he said.

Now there was a challenge. Time to up the game.

"But I do Joel," I said. "I know all about you. I know that you were the one responsible for sending that old bird down." And a change came over his face. "Myra McQueen?"

And I had him. He looked like he was shitting his double denim. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

"We all have secrets, son," I told him. "You've got to decide if you want to share this secret with a friend, or an enemy."

There was no reply. It was so easy. The cocky front was gone, like someone had wiped it off his face. He looked completely defeated. And I understood that. I mean, imagine if that information got into the hands of the cops. With him being on probation? No chance. No more club, no more Daddy Brendan, and no more of his little bird Theresa either. He'd have nothing. Be nothing. And it was all right in my hands.

"Now I am suddenly very, very hungry," I told him. I smelt the air. Someone was baking pizza, and victory had given me a raging appetite.

I walked away and left him. Impotent. Finished.

* * *

Funny how there was nowhere I could go in that village that didn't seem to have been touched by Brendan Brady. I followed my nose to the deli that was a few yards down the street, opposite the club. Never even set foot in the place before, but as I slipped through the door, it smelt good. But for all the scent of baking dough, it sounded even more interesting.

"Brendan, Brendan, Brendan," one of the guys behind the counter was saying – young guy, slim. "Look, I am banning his name from this shop from now on, OK?"

The other guy down the far end started bitching about putting up some big no tache sign. American. He sounded bitter, but hid it behind a snarky humour. Whatever, son. The first guy, taller one, played along with it. It didn't seem too difficult to work out who they were talking about. It also wasn't too difficult to work out that these two were together. Jesus, was everyone in this village gay? It was like taking a walk down Stanley Street. Finally, the first guy looked up at me, waiting. His chin tilted up.

"Right, have you decided what you want, yet?" His eyes were blue, under long dark eyelashes. His mouth was slightly open, showing white teeth. His accent, Northern, more Lancashire than hot pot, but soft.

"Not yet," I said. I glanced briefly at the second guy, buttering bread, but he seemed like nobody. Then turned back to the first. "Just weighing up my options," I told him. And smiled. He smiled back, on an instinct, his lips curling up for a second, but uncertain.

"OK," he said, and looked down again, unsure. I noticed he had a nose that turned up at the end like a ski jump, cute. Golden skin. Dark blonde hair. He looked like a dork in his little blue apron, but … yeah. Underneath that, somewhere, I guess there was something … tasty. If you like that kind of thing.

When I left that deli, I came away with more than just an overpriced panini. I had food for thought, with a side order of mystery, and extra relish. Because here was something new. Maybe I was finally getting closer. To whatever it was made Brendan Brady tick.

* * *

That night, as the club was starting to gear up for another crazy one, I found Brendan out on the balcony again. He was just stood there, leaning over the railing, looking down at the dark village. Taking a minute to himself, away from the punters and the constant nagging demands, I guessed. I watched from behind as he looked out, lost in himself. And I noticed something. His hands, folded loosely together. The middle finger of his left hand rubbing against the palm of his right. A tiny gesture. Rhythmic. He seemed in a dream, unaware of me. What the fuck was he doing up here? Why was he always up here, on his own, keeping watch? Over what?

I looked past him. Down below, the two guys from the deli, whoever the hell they were, Bert and Ernie, locking up at end of day. Laughing. Joking. And kissing. And for all it was like chaste little schoolgirls, Brendan's fingers closed around each other, clasping, tight. I watched as his eyes followed them down the street. And I felt something I hadn't felt before. A flash of something. Understanding, yeah. But something else. Anger? Strange. It's just I'd thought that he needed me. Wanted me. But now suddenly, when his eyes were fixed down there … I didn't even exist. My mind turned over, fast. I was fixed on breaking in, bringing him back. Grabbing his attention.

"She knows," I said. I went for the confessional. Usually works. Everyone loves someone else's secrets. And it was working now. Brendan didn't shift a muscle, but he seemed to be listening. I went on. "My wife. Deep down, she knows. She just won't admit it. I'm concerned … that she'll harm herself, or worse, the kids. She's … fragile." I'm just so good at this. The misery of my closeted life, right there, in a nutshell.

Brendan stood up now, turning to face me, slowly. But when he spoke, it was dripping with indifference.

"Wow," he said. "Thanks for sharing … stuff."

Whatever he'd shown me that morning, that flash of whatever – basic humanity – had evaporated. Not a trace. I wondered if it was something to do with those two guys who'd just headed off, or one of them, that could take that away. I nodded in the direction they'd disappeared in. Brendan's eyes followed, again. He stepped up, real close. I could feel his breath again, as he scrutinized me. For a second, I wondered if we were up for round two. If he was about to ask me to stop behind after hours that night. But he didn't.

"What, them?" he said. "They crossed me. Not too long ago. That's all. I don't like to lose. 'Scuse me."

And he walked past me and back into the club without even a touch. And I wondered. If there were some things Brendan hated to lose, more than others. Because he sure did not seem like a happy man that night.

I looked across at that poxy twee little deli. It looked like nothing, though whoever the chef was, the food was good, I'll give them that. Then my eye went to the names over the shop.

Carter & Hay.


	9. Chapter 9: Don't make me choose

Hi again Friday Bralker club. Got quite a juicy one for you this week. Big thank you to my two lovely guests, and Jennzo and MissScots for reviewing, you always put a smile on my face.

**Jennzo**- I've realised that the amazing thing about writing as Walker is, I can offload all the absolute BILE I feel towards a load of the other characters. I didn't mind Joel so much in rewatch - boring as hell til Walker turns up, but quite sweetly protective afterwards, and played by a cracking actor. But I absolutely **despise** Cheryl - I'm sure it comes through. ; ) What a selfish stupid cow they turned her into that last year, and what a tragic waste for Brendan to throw his life and happiness away - for that. And god, THE DELI! What a twee little prison that was for Ste. Firebomb it. It's the only way. If only Walker had ...

End rant. Here we go ...

**Part 9: Don't make me choose**

_Brendan_

The temperature was finally going up. Summer. Jesus, it had been a long time coming. Brendan sat on the wall outside the club, legs stretched out in front of him, feet crossed at the ankles, feeling something approximating a warm breeze on his shoulders. Police sirens wailed in the distance. For a second, he had flashbacks to the previous summer. It had started so well, felt like it would be everlasting. The heat of a body, coming back to his. Even the promise of a sunshine holiday with that warm body, tanning itself on the next lounger. But it had turned out to be a mirage. There was the usual fuck-up. Several of them. His fault, obviously. Then the sound of sirens. Cell doors closing. End of story. He pushed the thought away. This summer was altogether more … peaceful.

He was reluctant to go inside. It was pure coincidence that he'd taken up this spot, directly opposite the deli, which was already doling out coffee and pastries to breakfast customers. He sat behind the shelter of his aviators and turned gum over in his mouth, manipulating it around his teeth with his tongue. Someone inside the shop was moving around, serving. Golden. Oblivious.

"Hallo."

Walker. He'd developed this habit, since Brendan had called him back, of walking up like that, and just sitting himself down alongside. He was right at home. Brendan rarely resisted it. It was equal parts annoying, and companionable. He could be a talker, though, breaking into Brendan's thoughts. He talked now.

"Something in there caught your eye?" Walker said, directing his eyes across the road, and then back to Brendan. "It's more than food you're looking at."

There was something about the tone. Suggestive. From the off, Brendan was on the defensive. His morning peace had been broken.

"What are you talking about?" Brendan said, looking at him.

Walker adopted an emphatically casual tone. "Have to say, I'm a little surprised. I was expecting from your ex something a bit more … impressive."

Brendan's hackles rose further. There were things that Walker needed to know, and things that he didn't need to know. This came strictly into category two. There were a million reasons. It felt like an open wound, sometimes, for all it was finished, done. It left him too vulnerable. Plus, there was no way he wanted Walker around this. He knew Walker carried something dangerous round with him, and Brendan could handle it, but other people … other people couldn't. Last but not least, Walker was sounding suspiciously like a pissy jealous wife. And Brendan belonged to nobody.

He stood up and took off the shades. "I don't know what you're talkin' about Walker," he said. "You know me. Always about the business."

But Walker just looked back at him, with his sphinx's smile. He seemed confident this morning. "Yeah. I know you," he said.

It was intimate. The look of a man who's had his groin pressed up against yours and his tongue in your mouth. Brendan held his gaze, those level hazel green cat's eyes that always carried something between a tease and a taunt. As always, Walker just smiled. Brendan couldn't help thinking this would be a damn sight less complicated if Walker had a bit less of the feline charisma, and was altogether more tedious. Like Joel, for example. Joel never confused him like this. Never got a rise out of him.

"Good chat," Brendan said, bringing the conversation to an abrupt end. And left Walker to his own devices, before he did something he regretted.

He hadn't attempted to make any kind of move on Walker since the close encounter of two days ago. He hadn't ruled it out. But if it was going to happen, it would happen on his terms, same as always. Brendan felt like he had the upper hand right now, though you wouldn't always know it from Walker's behaviour. It would do him no harm to wait. Keep him on his toes. And in the mean time, at least he could be useful. Brendan had pushed on with buying the flats. On his way back through the village from a final meeting with the helpful Mr. Morrison, the deeds folded safely into his jacket pocket, he made a call.

"Walker. Deal's done, my friend."

"Nice one," the voice came back. "Should turn out to be a decent earner, with the right tenants. Split a bottle to celebrate?"

"Good lad," Brendan said, and rang off.

The phone was still in his hand when his eye was caught by two guys walking through the village. Arguing, by the looks of it. He was tempted to call out, but didn't. Something hit him, with a force he hadn't felt before. With the shop glass between them, two days before, the taller guy had looked intensely familiar. Something had called out from Brendan at the sight of him. Now, out in the open with this other guy, he was struck by the way over the last months he had changed his hair, his clothes. Brendan realized he hardly recognized him. He was just someone he used to know.

His hand pushed the phone back into his jeans pocket. He turned in the direction of the club, and Walker.

On the balcony, an hour later, Brendan sipped his whiskey and looked out at the horizon, the world beyond the village and the shops below, and the people in them. Walker was off somewhere making some calls, as usual. He was a very well-connected guy. The sky was infinite golden blue, massive, with the kind of clouds you stare up at as a kid and count, and want to ride away on. Things were looking up, Brendan thought. He savoured the peaty flavour on his tongue. This was his world now. It would do. Shit, maybe it would be better than the old one, why the fuck not? Less fucking complicated anyway. Although he could do without Joel's petty jealousy, still simmering in the background. He appeared, now. Quieter than he had been, more resigned. But still not exactly breaking open the champagne.

"Think we've got a problem," Joel said. "Walker."

"Of course," Brendan said. He took a deep breath. He really didn't need this.

"He's running about like he owns the place," Joel said. He sounded miserable and didn't look much better.

Brendan tried to turn it around. Sometimes, you just have to think positive. "Maybe you can learn something from him," he said, trying to keep his patience. "Clue yourself up."

Joel looked at him now. "You actually trust him, don't you?" he said, his voice subdued. He sounded almost protective.

Brendan thought about it. Then nodded. "Right now, he's one of the few faces I can stand the sight of."

"Well I don't want him about our club," Joel was carrying on, but without sounding like he had any hope of success. There was no force behind it now. "Look, I'm just saying," he finished, lame.

Right on cue, Walker emerged behind Joel, drink in hand. It was amazing how often he seemed to do that. He was always there when he was needed. You could practically set your watch by him. He was … dependable.

"Hallo," he said. As always, he made it sound half pick up, half insult.

Brendan moved closer to Joel. Leaned in. "Don't make me choose," he said. "Not now."

Because he had nothing against the kid. But if it came down to it, he knew who would get the yes vote, and it wasn't him. He needed Walker right now, in a way he hardly even understood, though even torture wouldn't get him to admit it. And he needed Joel to butt out of what he didn't understand, and let it happen. Getting the message loud and clear, his face fallen, Joel started to slope off. Walker stopped him. Held up his glass.

"If you're going inside, some more ice, please," he said. "There's a good boy."

Joel looked sullen but didn't try to fight it, now. As he disappeared, Walker looked across at Brendan. He smiled. One of those smiles you give each other at school, when you're up to no good. Us, you and me, against the world. It drew you in. Brendan found himself smiling back. For a second, he felt a genuine sense of connection with another human being. Then looked out again, away from the village, over his summer kingdom.

Yeah, maybe this might do.

* * *

Later that day, Brendan and Walker had taken their drinks into the office to look at the contract. It was nothing really, an apartment block, but what the hell, Brendan thought. Maybe it was the start of something. And the end of something else. A discharging of obligations. They could all move on.

"There she is," he said, tossing the paperwork across to where Walker was sitting, perched on the desk. "Signature in place."

Walker nodded approval, looking at it. "Brave move for you, this," he said. "Rental market. Dabbling in the unknown."

He lifted his glass to his lips, looking at Brendan over the top of it. Brendan watched him. The always coded message in those eyes. To his credit, Walker had never pestered him about why he'd bought the damn things, they were rank. He had his reasons. It's just no one needed to know. He held out his own drink, and they clinked glasses. It was starting to feel like a celebration.

They were interrupted by Rhys, one of the bar staff. Apart from Walker, one of the last decent bar staff he had left, really. The only one who had kept the ship afloat when Joel and his useless mate were doing their best to sink it in his absence. But it didn't protect Rhys from Brendan's taunting.

"Brendan, where's my wages?" the guy asked, in all innocence.

"Forgot to say please, Rhys," Brendan answered, looking up. There was something about having Walker there that made him want to put the guy in his place.

"Brendan honestly, I'm not in the mood," he said. Then met by silence, he seemed to think otherwise, straightening his shoulders. "Please," he said, with as much dignity as he could muster.

Brendan relented. Not much, but a little. "Behind the bar," he said. "The ones marked Rhys McQueen. Enough money in there to keep you in hair product for a week, that is if Jacqui lets you see any of it. Will she? Let you see any of it?"

He didn't really know where this was coming from. Rhys was happily married to Jacqui. He'd seen them around the place, arm in arm, walking their tatty little dog. He realized, in that moment, that he hated them for it. That he wanted to destroy it. And Rhys was just the kind of guy who was weak enough to let that be taken away from him. His own happiness. What kind of guy is so pathetic he lets his own happiness be taken away from right under his nose?

"That's all going on the lash," Rhys said, predictable, pointing out to the bar. "She doesn't tell me what to do." So easily manipulated.

"Yeah," Brendan said, leaning forwards. "Tell me something. When she neutered Terry, did she do the both of yous? Kind of like a buy one get one free? Did she? Did she?"

Brendan barked like a dog after Rhys's now rapidly retreating back. Then looked at Walker. He laughed, and Walker laughed back, easy, genuine. Brendan hadn't felt this for a while. It felt like winning. Suddenly, he had a strong sensation that he wanted to celebrate properly.

"How about I open a bottle of the good stuff?" he asked Walker. "Pay you back in style." His voice carried a message.

The light from the desk fell across half of Walker's face. It bounced off the silver ring which pierced one of his upper ears. Bit of a rebel, was Walker. Brendan found himself wondering what it would be like to try and tame him. Even if only temporarily.

When Walker spoke, his voice was low and husky. But his words were unexpected.

"Keep it on ice," he said. Brendan looked up, surprised.

"The party's only starting," Brendan said. It was his night off from behind the bar, he'd been thinking about an all-nighter, and he was pretty sure Walker had understood exactly what the hell he meant.

But Walker still shook his head. "My apologies, people to see," he said, getting up off the desk and getting ready to leave. Then just a chirpy, "Catch you later," and he was gone.

Brendan sat back. "See ye," he said, to the open door that had held Walker. It's not like he cared. But a frown settled briefly over his face, and his eyes narrowed. What the fuck kind of people did Walker have to see that came above the kind of celebration he had in mind?

He lifted his glass to his lips, but it tasted flat. Not for the first time, it occurred to him that winning felt a damn sight better if you had someone celebrating with you.

* * *

_Walker_

_REPORT 20/06/2012: Property deal concluded. Assume premises acquired for expansion of operations. Retail, possibly cookery. Current tenants: Hay/Barnes; Ashworth/McQueen. Expendable. _

I never asked Brendan what he wanted those shitty little flats for. For starters, I was playing it softly. I'd waited long enough to get this far, and we'd had too many bumps in the road for me to risk his trust. But I checked them out, and they were a dive. I had to assume he'd bought them for dealing. Simple really, put the rent up so everyone else moves out, then move your own guys in. Who's gonna care? And yes, I wondered if he might move into something bigger. Cutting and mixing, if you know what I mean. Going straight to the wholesaler. Would have served my purposes just fine, anyway. And it was exactly what my associates would want to hear.

I'll admit that my eyebrows went up when I saw the name of the principle tenant. Hay. So, this had to be some kind of revenge deal, right? For whatever he'd done to end up as owner of that apparently precious jumped up cob shop. And maybe just for still breathing, without Brendan. For not sucking his cock any more. Because I'd seen the expression on Brendan's face when he watched him through that shop window, and it wasn't the look of a man who was only thinking of his net profits. I was getting so close to something, now. To something that could hurt him more than anything. But it would take time to develop. And in the mean time, something else came out of a bright blue sky like an exocet missile, and blew the whole thing into a million pieces. A friend.

I had fallen into an easy pattern with Brady, now. Truly, you could say the sun was shining on me. Or out of me. He gave me what he couldn't trust to Joel. Most mornings, I called in to the club to find out whatever was on his mind. Then I did it for him. No trouble, no mess, just the way he liked it. Usually passing cash, messages, times, locations. The money was starting to pour through that club. But I wasn't quite ready to move, yet. I thought there could be more. I needed him caught up to his arms in the stuff. And I needed him to know that people had suffered because of it.

The day after the close escape with Brendan's best malt, I felt I had a special need to make myself indispensable. I hammered on the club doors, and while I was waiting for Brendan to move his ass and open up, there was some kind of collision on the other side of the square. I looked across. The back of a man, picking up some woman's shopping. Lynsey's. Brendan's little mate. His extremely desirable little mate, come to that. But my attention was grabbed back by the club door swinging open. Brendan, looking tired, so god knows where he'd gone after I left him.

"Hallo," I said.

"All right?" And it was straight down to business. A slip of paper. The usual. See a man about a dog. Report back. An address, an amount. A nod, between us.

"No problem," I said. "I'll give it my personal attention." Slipped it into my pocket.

Not much of a smile, today. He can be moody, up in the clouds one day, black the next. But a reward. Reached out a hand to my arm. A squeeze, a pat. Nothing, and everything, from him. We were on the same side. But I was just heading off when someone blocked my path.

"Hi, Walker?" Lynsey, again. She'd barely spoken two words to me since I turned up, that girl. Too busy with her own messed up love life, and that's just the way I liked it. But suddenly she seemed to have some time on her hands. Bad news for me. But it's always the quiet ones you have to watch. "You and Brendan seem joined at the hip these days," she said.

She was digging, it was obvious. I wondered who'd unleashed her. Joel? Almost certainly. I replied with some digging of my own.

"You two go way back, don't you?" Polite. Friendly. But seems like she didn't want to be friends.

"Oh yeah," she said, keeping her voice light. "Brendan's been like a big brother to me. And he's always looked out for me." I smiled at her. Sure, sure. Staking her prior claim. Adorable. And unsubtle. "That goes both ways though," she carried on. "I'm always on the lookout for people creeping around … taking advantage." She smiled back now. But I was starting to get tired of the game. I leant in. She was tiny, really. Hair like a raven, skin like milk.

"Get to the point," I said.

She showed her hand. "One word from me," she said, "Brendan's eyes will be wide open." I guess that was meant to be a threat. I just found it difficult to know how seriously to take it. Who was she, really? She wasn't even really his sister. And what did she think she knew? Suddenly, her voice changed. "Anyway … must shoot on," she said, smiling. "Don't worry though. I'll definitely be seeing you around."

I watched her go. As she passed me, her scent rose on the morning air. I inhaled her. And I sensed that I might have my work cut out here. Because I'll give her this - she packed a punch for her size. And underestimating that turned out to be one of my biggest mistakes.

* * *

I was already back in the bar, drinking, when Brendan came striding in, throwing his keys down on the bar alongside me and grabbing a bottle. We sure did a lot of drinking in that place. Maybe that was one of the reasons I wasn't thinking too clearly on this one. I just got way too comfy. Schoolboy error.

"Successful day?" I asked him. This is what we did, now. Chat. Joke. I was well in. We were best mates. None better.

"Yeah," he said, "I got a new hobby. Playing landlord." He'd been to hand over the new contracts then. There was a slightly grim note to his voice. He seemed like a man looking for distraction. "Bottle opener," he called to Joel, who'd been reduced to serving boy now, pretty much. I decided to chance my arm. Get in first, find out where I stood. Distract.

"I had a run in earlier today," I said, giving him the smile. The one that says we're on the same side. "Your adopted sister."

He looked wary for a moment. "Oh yeah?" he asked, opening his beer. "What's she say?"

"Oh the usual," I said. "Me. Vanish." I looked at him with a sense of appeal. He grimaced in sympathy. "Still," I went on, "we just need to be better acquainted. After all, you always tell me I've got a gift for getting people on my side. Don't you?"

I smiled right up at him, showing my teeth. So, this was where he made a choice. And like with Cheryl, and with Joel, the choice would be me. Sweet. Right?

And I just didn't see it coming. I thought after … what we'd done, after what he'd wanted to do last night … that I was immune, somehow. I was like him, wasn't I? I was special.

"Yeah," he almost whispered it.

There was the sound of shattering as his bottle and my glass were swept to the ground by his arm. He had me grabbed by the back of the neck with one hand while the other one punched me in the ribs. I bent over, more in shock than pain, blood rushing to my head, fighting for air. Pinned. Powerless. I realized my head was cradled against his shoulder, unable to move, as he spoke into my ear. Fucking hell. He had muscles like iron. I was strong, but he took me in seconds.

"Listen to me very carefully," he said, with a weird contained fury that was almost tender. "Lynsey's family. If you or your _gift_," (his hand moved to my balls and gave a long slow crush; my vision went red, my body contracting around the pain, an agonized moan squeezed out of me) "go anywhere near her, I'll end ye. We clear?"

"Crystal." I could barely get the word out against his shirt. But it seemed to do the trick. It was over as soon as it had started. He relaxed his grip.

"Atta boy," he said, patting me on back. "I'm gonna wash my hands."

And he dropped me, and walked out, without a flicker of feeling. I could hardly breathe, but as I sucked in air and spat it out, I knew Joel was standing over me, enjoying his smug temporary revenge. But I also suddenly knew something else. Something massive. Call it an insight.

That this was about more than Lynsey. That this was what he did. Brendan. He beat people. Not just the people he hated. He beat the people on his side as well. The ones he opened up to. The ones he loved, if you can call it that. That he cared about. That he fucked, or wanted to. The men, anyway. We scared him. So he closed down. And he beat us. And it made him feel better. For a while.

I wondered how many young guys had been on the receiving end of Brendan's special treatment. I wondered if the golden guy with the ski jump nose and long lashes had taken a fair few bruises, as tokens of Brendan's affection. If he'd got out, just in time. If that was why he'd crossed Brendan over the deli. If that was why Brendan wanted him out of the flats. If I was the latest in a long line. If I should have been … flattered.

I had to get out of there. As soon as I could stand, I was off that stool and out into the street, breathing the Brady-free air in deep. I needed to get my head together, and shuffled in the direction of the shop a few yards away to buy a drink, something to sober me up fast, nursing my ribs with a spare arm.

And that's when the second missile came out of the sky that had seemed so blue, blue, electric blue that morning.

"Hey mate, have we met before?" A guy coming over. Aussie.

"No mate," I said. Looked away.

"You sure?" He persisted. "You just look really familiar."

I managed to muster a smile. "I get that a lot," I said. "Familiar face." But the fucker just wouldn't go away.

"It's Nick, isn't it?" he asked, unsure.

"Wrong person," I said. "Trust me." And I paid up and left.

Because this was potentially nuclear. No one here was supposed to know about Nick. Here, I was Simon. And there's a very big difference between the two.

* * *

So I said I did time in the forces. True story. Helmand, eight, nine years before. Only twenty-two. Military police. It did my nut in but I liked the discipline. And it was an escape, a getaway from home. It had its own morality – determined in the cause, ruthless, and partially insane. It suited me just fine. In down time, we were all lads together, had a laugh. You need that stuff, a pressure valve. But I was good at my job, as well. I had an eye for untruth. And I started to notice, some of these guys … not everything was right.

Started innocent enough. Some women, coming up to guys on patrol, begging them to get them out of there. New life, the west, all that. We're not supposed to engage. But I started to hear stuff. Pick it up. Guys were smuggling them out, using contacts. Taking fees. Could even sound honourable, until you know where they mostly ended up. You might wanna call it by another name. Human traffic. And then they didn't wait for the girls to approach them. They picked them out, desperate, vulnerable. Seduced them. And that was that. Lapdancing for dirty twenties in some miserable cathouse in Lambeth or Liverpool before they knew it. Whether you think that's an improvement is up to you.

I had my eye on them. Building up a picture, before I went official. It was tricky, mostly hearsay and suspicion. Things like that don't make you real popular in the army, unless you're damn sure you've got the evidence to prove it. And I was still a rookie. I was getting close, I was. But I never got to shut the case down. One day, everything changed. Called home. Family responsibilities. Honourable discharge, compassionate grounds. Transferred to civvy street.

Thing is, one of those guys I was watching? Army medic. Aussie guy. Tall, bronzed type, surfer dude. Nice way with the ladies. Looked like butter wouldn't melt on the barbie. Sound familiar? What are the chances.

I couldn't leave it there now, could I, now that he'd seen me? There was no way in a place that small that he wouldn't do the proverbial arithmetic. He knew who I was. Nicholas Simon Walker, 5th Regiment, Royal Military Police. A different me, and there are several. So I checked him out, top priority. Traced him to the very flats Brady had just invested in. Living with one Amy Barnes, former partner of the very guy Brady was fixated on. Name: Ally Gorman. Which was strange. Because when I'd known him, he was Ed James. Ally Gorman was dead. Roadside device. Posthumous medal.

I followed him to the park with Amy Barnes's kids, girl and a boy. The perfect doting partner and father. But very few of us in this world are who we appear to be, I've found.

Luckily, didn't take long for the little lad to go wandering off in my direction - you know what kids are like. I crouched down, beckoning him over. Came, good as gold. So easy, to get him engrossed in some worms and creepy crawlies. I sat with him on the ground, just out of sight, and heard the respectable Ally Gorman yelling out for him, rising panic in his voice.

"Lucas! Lucas!"

Then coming round the corner and catching sight of us. His face froze. He grabbed the kid's hand.

"What's your Mum said about wandering off?" he said to him, sounding rattled, but panic subsiding.

"You have to watch out for them 24/7, don't you?" I said, smooth.

He tried not to show how afraid he'd been. But then I guess he knew all about predators. The world's a terrible place. "Yeah, you do, thanks." Then turned to the kid. "C'mon mate, let's go."

I got up. "I mean, they say accidents happen," I said to him, "but I never really believed in all that."

He looked even more rattled. "In accidents?"

"Bad things happen when a man makes a mistake," I told him. "For instance, you think you knew me, and you were wrong. Remember?"

I could see his thought processes working. And then something starting to click. Maybe the eight years in between had made his memory fuzzy. And I'd changed. But now, he knew me. Or he knew Nick. And he knew what I knew.

I guess he thought he'd got away with it. That no one had known, what he was up to his neck in. Maybe thought changing his name was enough. Turns out not. In fact it was a game changer, because I had enough to put him away, now. Ironic, really. And not sure what the sentence is for masquerading as a dead squaddie, but there's not many barbies and good looking vulnerable girls in jail. The only one who'd be lapdancing would be him, and the punters aren't all that friendly, I've heard.

"Yeah," he said, his face like stone, "I remember."

I winked at Lucas, stroked the little girl's blonde hair. "Smashing kids," I said. "Take care of them." And I smiled at him. And turned to leave.

So I thought I'd dealt with that one. It needed careful handling. I'd have called him in, of course, given him to Fraud tied up in a nice big bow, but I couldn't run the risk he'd give me up to Brendan first. This way, he had something to lose. So he could stay Ally, lovable family guy, and I could stay Simon, ex-con and dealer supreme. Middle names are so useful.

But it's the damndest thing. We were seen. By Little Miss Lynsey Drew.

And then something happened. And everything changed.


	10. Chapter 10: The weapon in their hands

Yo again, and big thanks to Jennzo, coloe and my Guest for the reviews. So interesting hearing your thoughts.

coloe - I love your analysis of B needing W for distraction from his old obsession. I don't know where the idea of not using Ste's name came from, it just happened, but I liked it because it means he's there and not there, important but pushed to the margins.

Guest - I agree, I think I project my own thoughts on to Walker sometimes. The insight about the violence wasn't really from canon at all, it just dropped into my mind when I was writing and I left it in because I liked it. So yeah, this is my version of Walker really, and he knows more of the secrets of Brendan's psyche/heart than on screen Walker maybe did.

Here we go with some more - not my best bit ever, but the original was too good to improve on!

**Part 10: You Put the Weapon in Their Hand**

_Brendan_

Something happened. And everything changed.

Brendan wished he'd listened. His mind had been taken up with other things, other people -

Ann "Mitzeee" Minniver being carted off into custody the day before, mainly. For stabbing Mercedes McQueen, they said. He didn't think she was capable of it, but then in her state, he didn't know what she wasn't capable of, either. She'd come to him for help, but it had been beyond his power. It had touched him, the state of her, though they hadn't been friends for months. One of many people he'd pushed out of his life when he thought he was invincible.

Even so, he wished he'd listened. More carefully, anyway. Done something. But it was too late now. Some things you can't put right.

Lynsey had come to find him, when he was in the middle of practically shovelling the latest takings into the safe. Money – it's a gas, right? And there was a lot of it. Since Walker had taken over the job of right hand man, it felt like they were swimming in it. Brendan had started to have big ideas about what they could do together. He was moving on up. But with his head full of business, it wasn't the best time to try to get his attention. He'd known it was her though, just by the sound of her footsteps on the ground behind him. She was light on her feet, not like Cheryl. And god save us all, not like Joel.

"Shouldn't you be knockin'?" he asked her, without even turning round.

"Aren't you and I beyond all that?" she'd said. He could still hear her voice, amused. Intimate.

He had smiled to himself. "Spose." They had been through a lot together. Specially last year. He'd even tried to chat her up, in one of his last, most desperate acts of denial. He still cringed at the memory.

"Lots of money," she had said, curiously. "They say that's what occupies most guy's minds."

"They could be right," he told her, standing up. He liked that she didn't bombard him with questions, the way Cheryl always would. Or judge. She just let him be him.

"Well, I've just come … from a strip club," she said. It sounded arch.

"Oh," he had said, amused. "Well, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, I guess."

They had smiled at each other.

"I followed Ally in there," she added, by way of explanation.

"Ally?" Brendan had tried to remember. "Big tall Aussie bloke, right?" He had no idea where this was going. "Isn't he spoken for?"

She had rolled her eyes. "I'm not interested in him, Brendan."

"Course not."

"Not in that way," she had clarified. "He knows something about Walker."

Something had bridled in him, at the mention of Walker's name. He was sick of people trying to warn him off the guy. He was more than useful, now. He was … interesting. "So?" he asked.

"So?" she had echoed. "When I asked him about it, he wouldn't tell me."

"Well that's not surprising, is it?" Brendan told her.

"Yeah," she countered. "Cos obviously there's something to it."

"No," he said, patiently, but still amused. "It's because when he went to a strip joint, a woman he hardly knows tracked him down and asked him one too many questions."

But she was used to his sense of humour. "Well it's his connection to Walker that I'm worried about," she said, undeterred. Brendan had looked at her, skeptical. She sighed. "It's him. I'm sorry Brendan I just don't trust him. Ally is afraid of him, do you not wanna know why?"

Months ago, he would have done. But now … he and Walker operated on a don't ask don't tell policy. It suited them both. It's not like he didn't have plenty of secrets of his own. He hedged his bets.

"Maybe I do," he said. "Maybe it's none of our business."

"Yeah, well that shouldn't stop you being worried," she said. And he knew that look. She looked … determined.

Brendan sighed. "You're beginning to sound like Joel now," he said. "It's unsettling."

"Really?" she said. "Well, I don't know what Joel's instincts are like but mine have proven pretty spot on in the past." He had had to laugh. Yeah, she had been right about Silas Blissett, all along. No one was ever gonna forget it.

"Yeah," he said, and attempted to take it more seriously. "Okay. Um … what links them, Lynsey? Money? Or lust?" They were the only two motivations he could think of. He prayed silently that Ally wasn't going to turn out to be some pushy ex of Walker's. The idea made him shudder.

But Lynsey had just shrugged. "Who knows? I just want you to watch yourself around him."

"OK," he said, bowing to her feminine intuition, or whatever they called it.

But looking back, he knew he hadn't taken her seriously enough. And now someone had come to settle the score.

Because something happened. And everything changed.

He had let people see that he cared about someone. And you can't do that, with anything, or anyone. 'Cos then they had you. They'd use it to hurt you in a way you thought you could never be hurt.

You put the weapon in their hand. And you've only got yourself to blame.

* * *

Even the next morning, he hadn't taken the time to listen. Not really.

"Brendan, you might like living on the edge," she told him. "But the people around you don't." She indicated Joel with her head, who was being fussed over by Cheryl, something about him being due for a check-up after that unfortunate accident with the wrong end of a knife in the last round of trouble. Brendan had at least stopped then, taken a moment with her.

"I'll keep my eyes open, I promise you," he'd said. Promises, promises.

"That might not be enough," she'd said.

And he'd just grunted, and left. He wished he'd given her a kiss on the forehead or something, now. Something, anything, to show that she mattered to him, that her opinion counted. But he hadn't. He'd been too busy rushing off to do business, count that money he was falling in love with.

Down in the village, Walker appeared from nowhere as usual to join him, falling into step, matching him stride for stride.

"What are you doin' so early?" Brendan had asked him, amused.

"Suppliers," Walker said. "Just wanna make sure they deliver what they're supposed to, for a change."

"OK," Brendan said. He was pretty sure Walker didn't just mean alcopops. But he could handle himself. More and more, he found himself letting Walker handle most things.

He hadn't even taken it seriously when he finally saw the big Australian guy Ally Gorman in the village. For some reason, Brendan had been buzzing that morning, wisecracking, hyper, talking shit about six degrees of separation. He got like this, sometimes, felt like King of the World. Maybe the knowledge that a certain person was standing not far off giving out deli samples and listening to every word he said had cranked things up a few notches in the testosterone department.

"What?" this Ally guy had said to him, confused, as he meant him to be.

"I know somebody, who knows somebody," Brendan said, "who knows a handful of other people that eventually connect me, to you. It works usually in less than six steps."

"Fascinating." The guy had still looked baffled.

"I think so," Brendan said. Then got down to it. "Let me try you with: you, me, and let's say … Walker."

Ally had looked uncomfortable. Acutely. "Go find someone else to play with mate," he'd said, and started to walk off.

Brendan had gone after him, grabbing his arm. "This'll only take a second. Lynsey's under the impression you know my business colleague from somewhere, is that true?"

But the only answer he'd managed to get was, "Lynsey needs to learn to keep her trap shut." It was hardly an answer. But there would be another time. There always was. Wasn't there?

* * *

It was only when the phone rang that it all began to unravel.

He had been locking some of that copious cash into the wall safe when he became aware that Walker was standing in the doorway, watching. They hadn't talked properly since the incident over Lynsey. The punch. Brendan felt a need to lay it to rest. It had only been to set him right, draw some lines. He needed Walker to stay away from her, but otherwise, it was hardly a deal-breaker. He wanted to move on.

"Are the suppliers behaving?" he asked him.

"Oh, I doubt we'll be getting any more trouble from them in the future," Walker said. Brendan looked at him. He was, as always, smiling. No sign of resentment over what had happened. Seemed like he had taken his punishment like a man.

Brendan stepped closer and squared up to him, to test it out. Lowered his voice.

"Good," he said, scanning Walker's face for a reaction. "A little bit of playful intimidation never hurt anybody," he told him. "But you don't need me to tell you that. Do you?"

He laid one finger against Walker's chest. He needed him to understand what this was. Just that. It was just part of the game they played. Guys. And if he could get his head round that, Brendan thought, maybe it wasn't too late to have that celebration he'd been thinking of the other night. Walker didn't move. But the touch wasn't rejected. This was promising.

Which was when the phone rang.

"Now who might that be?" he asked, holding it up so that Walker could see the unknown caller ID. He met Walker's steady gaze as he put the phone to his ear. He seriously hoped this wasn't going to take long.

The voice that spoke was nasal, scouse. Familiar from somewhere.

"There's a blue van in Standon industrial park. Your boy Joel. 'E needs yer." It rang off.

Brendan looked at the handset. The desire to celebrate faded as quickly as his boys' birthday fireworks. For the first time all day, he felt 100% serious, his strange elation stopped dead in its tracks.

"Who was it?" Walker asked, sensing the change of mood.

When Brendan's voice came out, it wasn't much more than a whisper. "Have you seen Joel?"

"No."

That was enough. Brendan grabbed his keys and ran, hearing Walker call after him.

"Brendan? Brendan!"

* * *

It was pissing down as Brendan approached the blue van in the middle of the concrete car park, Walker following hard on his wet heels, as if the day had darkened with his luck. The rain ran down into his eyes and poured off his sodden jacket, though he hardly noticed, blinking to keep his vision clear. He trod warily, the ominous silence coming from the van making his stomach clutch with dread.

"Joel?" he called out.

But the response was immediate.

"Brendan!" Joel's familiar accent from inside the van, almost screaming with hysteria.

He jammed a crowbar into the door and levered it open. Joel almost fell out of the van into their arms in a tangle, still shouting almost impenetrable Glaswegian. Brendan put his hands out to steady him.

"Slow and easy, slow and easy!" he said, trying to calm him. Which is when he fully registered what was in Joel's hands for the first time. A grenade. He felt a lurch in his gut, an instinct for survival hardwired into his system which almost knocked him sideways.

"Easy!" he said, and placed his hands around Joel's own, which were shaking after an hour of trying to keep the pin in place and himself from becoming cat meat. They were cold and white as a dead man's.

Joel was crying, almost like a child. "They said this had got three seconds to detonate," he said, between sobs and gulps. For all he had grown up recently, he suddenly seemed like more of a schoolkid than he'd ever been.

"Who's they?" Brendan asked him. But Joel couldn't focus. "Who's they?" he repeated, louder, trying to get Joel's attention.

"The guys who stabbed me!" He shouted. "This is your fault!" He looked from Brendan to Walker and back. "If you guys hadn't gone back and beaten them up …!"

Brendan felt a stab of responsibility that was like a knife in his own gut. He had shaken off the blame for the attack on Joel. The lad had been determined to go in, to prove himself. And hell, he recovered. But this time, yeah, he knew it, this was his fault. Joel was just the pawn, caught in the middle of a battle he never started.

"OK, OK!" he said, trying to calm him. He knew he couldn't hold on much longer in this state. He leveled his voice. "You're gonna let go now. And you're gonna throw this as far as you can."

"My hands are tied!" Joel yelled. Brendan saw now the black plastic tapes that held his wrists together so that Joel held his hands out in front together, like a prayer for someone to save him. Brendan shook his head, regrouped. Steeled himself.

"OK!" he said, glancing for a moment at Walker, then back at Joel. "Give it to me, I'll do it."

The idea of trying to transfer a ticking time bomb seemed to send Joel into a blind panic. "No, no," he moaned.

"It's OK," Brendan said, looking into his face, trying to sound more reassuring than he felt. "Joel, look at me. Look at me." He placed his fingers and thumbs over Joel's own, slippery with sweat. Felt Joel start to ease his out from under. "Easy, concentrate. Easy."

Then it was done. He was holding an unexploded grenade in one hand. He stood up straight and contemplated it. Death felt strangely close. He had looked it in the eye a few times. He'd never been too sure if it was a friend, or an enemy.

"Oh wow," Walker breathed, next to him, apparently equally aware that they should by rights have been blown sky high by now.

"Brendan just throw it, just get it away," Joel begged.

Brendan looked at him, calculating the odds. There was a chance it was dud. It all depended on Lady Luck. Red or black? Love or death? Place your bets.

"This is definitely the guy Sampson?" he asked him.

"Sampson, yeah," Joel babbled, "just chuck it away, please, just throw it … "

Brendan turned to face Walker. They had got the kid into this mess together. The first time he'd really trusted the guy. Seemed appropriate they should get them all out of it together, or die trying. And to do Walker credit, he didn't budge.

"Count me down," Brendan said, "I'm gonna let go."

Walker shook his head, but didn't break eye contact.

"Come on …" Brendan dared him. His pulse hammered. Sweat mixed with the rain that ran down his face. But if he had a date with his maker, then he did. "Three …"

Joel started to run away, still whimpering.

" … two … "

"One," Walker said.

Brendan released his finger. The clip flew up. He and Walker never stopped looking at each other, waiting for their fate together, their breathing heavy. Time seemed to stop.

Then the pin struck the concrete. He heard it. They were all still there. Time started again.

Red wins, ladies and gents.

Brendan uncurled his fingers and let the dead grenade fall to the ground. His head dropped back with intense relief, his eyes closed. So he did want to live, then. The realization almost surprised him. He had hardly known he cared, but seemed like it wasn't his time, not yet. Maybe there were still things he needed to do. But he felt suddenly exhausted, like someone had drained every drop of lifeblood from his veins, sucked him dry.

"How did you know?" Walker asked him. He sounded awed. Rare, for Walker.

Brendan looked at him. "What makes you think I knew?" he said, and made himself walk over to where Joel was still crying, with relief now. He gathered him into a hug, a hand on the back of his neck to calm him.

"C'mere. I got you kid. It's OK." Joel cried now like he would never stop. It entered Brendan's head that nineteen was no age to face death. "It's OK," he soothed, again. He had got this. He had got this. It was all back under control.

Except it wasn't. Distraction, right? While you're looking one way, they're running the other. And before you know it … goal. Because it turns out Joel having the life scared out of him was just the appetizer. As they came up the stairs of the club, knackered and pumped out, to what should have been safety, Brendan looked around him.

Bottles and glasses smashed. Furniture turned over. The door of the office open. The door that they'd left open, in the rush to get to Joel. The whole place was trashed. His reaction was slow, dulled by being sideswiped. But when the realization came, it was undeniable.

"No," Brendan moaned. Ran to the office. Carnage. "No, oh no, no, no!" The wall safe, smashed and open. "No, no, no, no!"

Yes. Both safes open and empty. Everything. Everything that he'd spent months acquiring, everything he had built with Walker's help. Gone. Taken from right under his nose. The only contents were useless files. Accounts with fucking nothing in them. He threw them at the cabinets, sending everything that was still on the surfaces smashing them to the ground. Sank onto the sofa.

"They wanted my attention, they got it, they got it!" He could hear his own voice was nearly a scream.

Walker was standing in the doorway, surveying the wreckage. "Hey, hey!" he said, shouting, but still annoyingly cool. "Don't get into some knee-jerk reaction like you did last time, all right?"

Brendan got up, and launched himself towards him. So, what, he was on his own again now? And who the fuck was Walker to tell him what to do? Who the fuck was he?

"What are you saying?" he shouted. "What are you saying, you aren't with me anymore? This whole thing started with you, it started with you!" He knew he was out of control. Spitting, almost crying.

"I know, I know!" Walker yelled back, serious, but still controlled. "I'll help, I will. Just not right now."

Brendan left a second for this to sink in. Was he serious? Was he going to do that fucking disappearing act, again? He needed him! He fucking needed him, couldn't do this on his own.

"Right now? What?" He screamed. "WHAT?!" He held his hands out at the complete chaos around them.

"I need to be somewhere," Walker said.

It was unbelievable. "Oh! Oh you need to be – he needs to be somewhere!" he turned to Joel, who was stood over by the bar, holding himself, miserable, his face puffy from crying, disturbed.

"Just let him go, Brendan," Joel said.

Brendan launched himself at Walker. Pushed him on the chest, reigning in the desire to give him the beating of a lifetime.

"Fine! Fine!" He rejected him. Pushed him away. He never wanted to see the guy's fucking face again. He'd always been alone, Brendan. Sure, sure, he was on his own again. Always had been, always would be.

"Listen, whatever you're planning …" Walker said, his voice a warning.

But Brendan was done listening to Walker. It had never done him one bit of good. Since the guy came here, it had been a fucking disaster.

"Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah!" he spat, hammering the bar top with his hand. "Give my love to your family." Walker gave him one look, and then just left. Brendan turned to Joel. "He's got his priorities, I got mine."

Somehow, with Walker gone, his rage subsided enough to let him see that Joel was still in a state. He seemed unable to move, or do anything but hold his head and try not to cry. Brendan suddenly felt for him, stuck in the middle of something he didn't even understand. Christ, Brendan didn't even understand it, what was going on between him and Walker, why it always felt so fucking radioactive.

"Go home, man," he said, seeing the pain on the kid's face. Not for the first time, his own son's face came to memory, caught up in the crossfire. Between him and Eileen. Between him and … someone else. "Forget about this place for the day. Go home." But being kind seemed just to make him crumple again. "I'll … I'll walk with you," Brendan said, assuming the lad was just scared.

"What, hold my hand?!" he exploded at Brendan.

Brendan walked over to him. He felt desperate but tried not to show it. "Look I will sort this. I promise you, I will sort this."

"Oh, it's all front from off of you Brendan!" Joel said. "Where does it stop?" So he had lost his faith in him, then. Brendan's gut tightened.

"I'm sorry!" he tried to reach out to him. "I'm sorry they used you to get to us, I am. OK?"

"Just don't do anything about it!" Joel was pleading now, crying again, exhausted.

"You know I can't do that!" Brendan said. It just wasn't how it worked. They had hurt him. He had to hurt back.

"Why?" Joel yelled back at him. "It's only money!"

Brendan tried. He tried to see it from where Joel was standing. But there was no way out of this. This wasn't about money. It was about who he was. He was Brendan Brady. If he didn't have that … he didn't have a fucking thing. It was all over. It was a fight for life, to be someone, to prove them all wrong. To the death, if he had to.

"It's not," he said. Not even for him, not for this crying lad, could he stop this happening. He gripped him on shoulder, squeezed, and then headed off.

"What are ye gonna do?" Joel called after him as he descended the stairs. "Brendan?"

"Save the day …" Brendan muttered, not knowing if anyone heard. Or cared.

* * *

He wasn't thinking. There was only one idea. Hit back, hit back, hit back. He'd go round to their place, torch it. Them inside, if he could. He had supplies at the lock up, the one place no one knew about. He barged into the flat. He passed Lynsey, curled up on the sofa. His brain was too mussed up to question why she didn't get up, but then she lived there. He rummaged through drawers for the lock-up keys. It vaguely occurred to him that if there was gonna be a war, he should get Cheryl to safety. After Joel, no more slip ups.

"Hey Lyns," he called out, "have you seen Chez around?" No reply. "Lynsey?"

Still nothing. He stopped, and took in the room. The laptop still on. Holidays in Portugal. The top of Lynsey's head visible over the back of the sofa.

"Lynsey?"

He walked over. Slowly. Put a hand down and stroked her hair. "You OK?"

Silence.

He came alongside the sofa, and crouched down beside her. "Hey …" he whispered.

Her hand fell from where it rested so it hung down. He picked it up, holding her wrist gently in his fingers. It seemed limp.

"Hey."

He looked at her face. She looked like she'd been crying, a smudge of make-up down her cheek, wet. But her eyes were still open.

A breath escaped his mouth, though none escaped hers.

He dropped the hand and fell back. Hands clasped in front of mouth. His eyes stayed on her. He didn't move.

Because no words that he could say would fix this. And no looking away could unsee it. And no doing could undo it.

He had lived by using other people's weakness. Now, they had used his against him. He had put the weapon in their hand. And he only had himself to blame.


	11. Chapter 11: We think we know our friends

Thanks to my Guest for the review. Some aftermath!

**Part 11: We think we know our friends**

_Walker_

I didn't do anything. I really didn't, not a thing. But something happened, and everything changed.

There are sins of commission, and sins of omission. That's what the Bible says, right? Or the Church, or God, or Mohammed, or someone. This was the latter. I could have done something. I didn't. I'm not big on religion, myself, though I believe in karma. What goes around, comes around. Maybe what happened, just had to happen. It was coming. So who was I to stop it?

She knew. I don't exactly know how, though I had a pretty good idea. I saw her pestering him, our big Australian friend with the dodgy record. I guess he spilled my name. Maybe she used medical records at the hospital where she works to find the rest. I don't know. She didn't seem the type to give up.

All I know is, when she came down from the flat into the village that morning, she looked at me. And raised her eyebrows. Just that. But a threat.

And then I had to stand, just out of hearing, and watch Brendan talk to our Man from Oz as well. His little ex, buzzing in the background, ears pinned back. Suddenly, I was everyone's business. So I knew. I knew she'd said something to Brady, though he couldn't know the whole story or I'd be roadkill by now. But if he kept pushing, he would get what he wanted, eventually. He always did. It was all starting to fall apart, stitch by stitch, one first, and the rest would follow. And it was all down to her. Pick, pick, pick. I realized we probably needed to have a chat. Call it damage limitation.

On my way back from the suppliers', I saw her at the bus stop. Too good a chance to miss. She was just sitting there, looking a bit stunned if I'm honest. Maybe she'd had bad news. It's usually a good time to press someone's buttons.

I came and sat down beside her. "What time's the next bus?"

She seemed delighted to see me. Rolled her eyes, and looked away. "Dunno," she said.

"Interesting," I said. "So you don't know everything then?"

But she was a tough crowd that day. Gave nothing away. "Just leave me alone. All right?"

I smiled. "That's very funny," I said. "That's almost exactly what I was going to say to you. It's very sweet, this thing that you have for your best friend's brother, but stay out of my business, Lynsey."

She looked at me, full of contempt. "Brendan's not stupid," she said. Her eyes carried a message.

I leant in to her. "Granted," I said. "But I'm beginning to suspect you might be." And she at least did me the courtesy of starting to look scared. "You know the thing I hate most about public transport?" I asked her. But she didn't seem to want to play along. "The public." I gave her what I hoped was a parting smile. "Safe journey." And left her to wherever she was going.

I was really hoping that would be enough. Just to scare her. I just don't know why she couldn't leave it, just butt out of our business, mine and Brendan's. It was personal, between him and me. It's almost like she thought she had some kind of crusade going on. Rid the world of wrong-doers, or something. But anyway, it wasn't enough. Because later that morning, I got a message. Must have got my number off Joel.

_I'm not going anywhere, officer. _

Because I don't think I really spelt it out, did I? When I'm not being a drug dealer, bar manager and general Brady factotum, I do a bit of moonlighting.

I'm a cop.

* * *

It's funny, how things get in the way. I would have gone earlier, specially with the way Brendan was looking at me after I got back from the suppliers. I guess he thought me coming over all docile and helpful meant that I'd learnt the lesson he doled out to me over his precious little mate. I guess in his mind, it was time to kiss and make up again. Literally. He wasn't to know I just hide my wounds well.

Anyway, what with that and the message, I would have gone straight round to find her, but I got … distracted. The boy Joel managed to get himself kidnapped. Turns out this Sampson guy was even more of a nutjob than I knew. His brother was still in a bad way, I knew that much, so maybe this had all got a bit personal. Hit back at family, loved ones, that kind of thing. My instincts told me it was a game, though. They made it too easy to find the kid. And when I saw that knackered old grenade, I was pretty sure no one was going boom any time soon.

I said pretty sure. Time in the RMP has its advantages, but you can never know completely that your number hasn't come up. Sometimes, you're just unlucky. I'll give Brendan one thing - to take that chance took pretty massive balls. I stood and watched him let that pin fly, the rain running off him, his eyes never leaving my face. A pulse hammered in my temple. And I'll admit, I wondered. I wondered if somewhere in there, he wanted it. Death. If part of him was always waiting for it. And I wondered what was so bad that death was the only escape.

But he got away with it. This time. His face was half relief, and half pain that his world was still turning.

My instincts were right, though. Joel, and a grenade that looked like it was nicked from the local museum, were not the main show. The main show was the club and the money. The Brady empire. Because while the cats had been away, the mice had eaten the cheese and then blown up the trap. It was all gone. Everything. And he went into meltdown.

The timing was awkward, but then I didn't plan any of this. I never knew this Sampson guy would take the fight back to Brady. That it would turn into a war. He was just supposed to get Brendan up to his neck in it so we could nick him red handed. Joel, the club … they were collateral damage.

Afterwards, Brendan was raging about revenge. But I had other things to do, and they couldn't wait. I knew I was risking everything by leaving, his trust, his friendship, affection, whatever. But my cover, that was more important. If that was gone, it was game over. It'd be me in that van, and this time, the grenade would be live, and it would be shoved somewhere a lot more intimate than my hands. So for all his fury, I left him in the club with Joel, and went to find her. What happened next still comes to me in dreams, sometimes.

"Brendan's not here," she said to me, sarcastic, as I walked past her into the flat.

"I know that," I said. "I feel we need to have another conversation." Time to cut to the chase. I looked at her. "Yes, I really am a police officer."

That got her attention. She cut the lip and stepped up to me, unsure. I guess she wasn't expecting a full confession. "So, what happens now?" she said.

"See, that kind of depends on you," I told her. "Either you can be a naughty girl, and run off and tell Brendan that his entire world is about to come crashing down around him …"

"Or …" she interrupted.

"Or, you don't. In which case you avoid a very lengthy spell in prison." Her face was serious. I was exaggerating a bit, but don't suppose she'd thought that if she told him, she made herself accessory to all sorts. Obstructing a police investigation, for starters.

She shook her head, confused. "What is it that he's supposed to have done?" I wondered how much she knew about his past. We had nothing on him, really. Nothing serious anyway. But there had been rumours. A business partner, who disappeared.

"Sometimes, we think we know our friends," I told her.

I would have carried on. Drip feeding suspicion, until she felt she had to keep quiet, for everyone's sake. Charm her, if I had to. Some women like the honest copper. But there was a knock at door. That wasn't part of my plan either. And I was in a hurry. I needed to get back to Brendan before he torched half of Liverpool looking for the men with his money.

"Someone is popular today," I said. "Pretend I'm not here." I turned and started to retreat into the kitchen, and round the corner. Towards Brady's bedroom, actually, where I'd spent a couple of interesting nights.

"Where you goin'?" she called after me, confused.

"The door, Lynsey …"

And I heard her say my name. "Walker …"

Then I listened.

"What the hell do you want?" she said, opening the door.

"You." A man's voice, rushed, emotional. Just some guy, I didn't know him, but she evidently did and just as evidently hated his guts. What a lot of friends she had.

"What? Excuse me."

"No!" he shouted now, getting angry. Frustrated. Teeth clenched. "Listen. I will not have you screw things up for Mercedes, you understand?"

"She was stalking Mitzeee! She's off her head!"

I remember wondering what the fuck she had got herself into. Wasn't it the other way round? Mitzeee stalking Mercedes? It was hard to keep up.

"I can make things very difficult for you," the man said, trying to sound like the tough guy. He was laughable, really. Something Lynsey clearly agreed with, because she burst out, mocking him.

"Oh, what, you're threatening me now, are you?" she said.

"Yeah, I am," he said. Then, "Don't laugh at me!"

"What, you do this for all your prostitutes, do you? You're just a sad little man who has to pay women to sleep with him." Wow, she had some serious dirt on him. Seems she had a real talent for digging it.

"Shut up," he said. But she didn't hear what I heard. A man close to losing it. I've seen it and heard it a few times.

"I mean, what is it with you and Mercy anyway?" she blundered on. "The girl's a complete bitch. She isn't even interested in the likes of you."

"I said shut up."

"Aw, you are pathetic!"

And then it all changed. A scuffle. Muffled cries. Someone being pushed down onto the couch.

"Do you want to know how pathetic I am, do you? Do you? Do you?" His voice. Then her, starting to whimper, confused, afraid, then scream, loud. "You shut your mouth!"

I looked around the corner. He was practically on top of her, his hands around her throat. I retreated.

I guess that's the moment I made a choice. Sort of. A parting of the ways. A crossing of lines.

My breathing came and went. My mind was empty. I didn't move.

She screamed. "Walker, Walker!"

And then stopped screaming.

I closed my eyes. I've heard people die before. In the forces. Knowing it's happening. Scared. Fighting for every breath they have left. But not like this. And still, I let it happen.

Why? Because it was convenient. I felt for her but … my mission was more important. She was a threat that had to be neutralized. And other people had been hurt in this war. She wasn't the first, and she wouldn't be the last. This was what I came for. To hurt the people Brady loved. The best way of hurting him.

So I stood there, and did nothing. And it was like walking out of one room, and into another. When I opened my eyes, the world was different. But I didn't know what had changed. Me, or everything else.

I heard him leave. I knew I had to move. There might only be minutes before Cheryl came back, or Brendan. But before I left that flat, I stood and looked down at her. Just for a moment. Her eyes were open. But saw nothing.

It seemed unbelievable. Somewhere, somehow, I almost wondered if I'd made it happen.

Her scarf was gone, I noticed. He must have taken it. Souvenir, maybe. I glanced around. Cheryl's diary, open on the table. Maybe I'd take one of my own. My hand went out on instinct, snatched it up and shoved it into my jacket. Then I left.

I didn't plan it. But I didn't stop it. It was a means to an end. And the end was justice.

But that's what I still hear sometimes, in my dreams.

"Walker, Walker!"

* * *

He didn't reappear for hours, but I guess that was to be expected. Got taken down the station, treated as a suspect. Of all the ironies. I went to ground for a while. Thought it was best I wasn't seen anywhere near. Plus, I needed not to be there. Bodies, grief … it's not me.

His message came through. I let it go to voicemail. He sounded drunk but probably wasn't. His voice heavy, indistinct.

_I'm with the police. Lynsey … she's gone … dead. She's dead. Killed. Don't know what's goin' on. Just … hold the fort._

It cut off. I closed my eyes, let the words rattle round my head. The pain of them. Then stood up and headed off to the club. He would need to find me there, later.

It was the first time I'd had a chance to survey the damage. In all senses. The place was a total mess, just as Brendan had left it. His whole world, in bits. To be honest, I thought I'd feel a bit more triumph. But all I felt was a sense of grim satisfaction. It had been a very strange day.

When he got there, I was making a token attempt to sweep up, put chairs the right way up, that kind of thing. He seemed completely changed. His feet dragged up the stairs, slow and heavy. As he reached the top, he stopped and looked at me. Like he needed something, but didn't know what. Then sank down onto one of the sofas like a man with lead in his very bones. His head dropped back, like he couldn't support it. I sat down with him.

"So, the cops finished with you, then?" I asked. Careful, feeling my way.

He rubbed his eyes with the fingers of one hand like a man who wanted to sleep but thought he never would again. "You got my message then?"

"Yeah," I said. "Sorry 'bout your friend." I didn't really even pretend to care that much. It'd be out of character. Walker was an unfeeling bastard. Didn't want Brendan getting suspicious just when my biggest threat had been eliminated.

He lifted head to look at me. "You don't look so surprised," he said, weary.

I left it maybe a second. "You think it was Sampson?" I said. Just dropped it in there. Because I don't really know who that guy was, the guy in the flat – a doc from the hospital where she worked, by the sounds of it. But this could work for me. A trigger. Get him in much deeper than he ever intended. And when he did, my associates would be waiting for him.

His head fell back again. He stared at the ceiling. Let out a deep breath. Not exactly the quick reaction I'd been hoping for. I gave it another push.

"What do you wanna do?" I asked him.

But he didn't answer. When he spoke, he seemed lost in thought.

"You know … I've known that wee girl for as long as I've known my own sister," he said. "They came as a pair."

There was a whole history, in that voice. I knew him and Cheryl had been brought up apart at first. Pretty obvious from the accents –Belfast and North Dublin don't often mix. I wondered what that was like. Being taken up to live with Daddy Brady's other family. Knowing he'd wanted them more than he wanted you. I wouldn't know, me and my brother were thick as thieves.

Suddenly, he lifted his head. "You know what the worst thing about this is?" he asked me, staring ahead.

"What?" I looked back at him. A man disintegrating in front of me.

He whispered. "It's all my fault."

He couldn't even look me in the eye.

* * *

I was routinely questioned, naturally. Just the plods, doing their job. Well, they weren't to know, they don't get told. That's why it's called undercover. And it worked for me, really. Because no one's gonna interview a cop, are they? It added to the authenticity.

They came to the club door, down on the street.

"So you didn't have any history with Lynsey Nolan?" she asked me, the Detective. DI Small, same woman got the collar for the Silas Blissett murders. Christ knows, it took her enough false starts to get there. Though if she hadn't put Brady away for it by mistake, I might never have met him. So I guess I owed her, in a funny sort of way.

"No," I said. "She was a friend of a friend." I knew Brendan was looking at me. Checking every reaction.

"I see," she said. "And do you know anyone who might have had a grudge?"

I decided to play it down. I'm a busy man, this was nothing to me, that kind of thing.

"Listen, detective," I said, keeping it low key, "she was a nice girl and everything, but to be honest with you, barely knew the woman. Saw her around a few times. That's all I've got to say about that."

That seemed to be enough. She left. Never even bloody asked me where I was. Lucky Brendan thought I was off playing happy families, or it might have occurred to him to wonder too. But he seemed satisfied. His eyes left my face, and he moved back into the shadows inside.

* * *

It was the day after that the meltdown really started. He'd gone from numb grief to rage. And I couldn't reach him when he was numb. But I could do something with rage. If I trod carefully.

Back In the club, he'd called a meeting. He paced up and down through the still wrecked bar. Then turned to Joel.

"I want you to tell me everything that happened yesterday."

"Already told you," Joel mumbled. He seemed numb. From the off, it tried what little patience Brendan had. And he had none.

"I know you told me Joel, I know you did. I want you to start at the beginning, give me details!"

The kid seemed at a loss. He stuttered. "I …"

"I what?" Brendan snapped at him. "What, what, what?! SPEAK!" He was screaming the word at Joel by the end.

"Take it easy!" I said. But he was in no mood to be calmed.

"Take it easy?" he said, his voice rising, hysterical. "Take it easy? Are you kidding me? Take it easy? You know what age that girl was that I held yesterday? She was twenty-six years old – twenty-six!" He breathed, heavily. "She was a good girl OK? She helped people. And then somebody, some scumbag, took her life from her, so please, don't tell me to take it easy, OK?!"

There was no answer to that. Silence developed. And I watched him. He held his hands out.

"Let me ask ye something," he was almost pleading. "Am I … am I responsible for all this? Sampson wanted his revenge."

Oh, he so much wanted this to be about him. For another reason to hate himself. If only he'd known. That she was killed by some sad psycho, because she threatened his girlfriend. I felt a need to inject some sanity.

"What would he go after Lynsey for then?" But reverse psychology, really. I knew it would push him further down the road he'd already chosen, without even knowing it.

"'Cos she was in my house, under my care!" he shouted.

"What, and that makes you complicit does it?" I emphasized the word. He really thought he was.

"No," he said. "It makes me vulnerable."

"For who?" I shrugged. Vulnerable was good, but he'd lost me.

"For Cheryl!" he shouted, as if it was obvious. "For Cheryl!" He was practically screaming it into my face.

"He came for me," Joel said, quiet. Someone else, at least, who could see the limits of what a two-bit dealer was capable of. But Brendan was deaf to reason, now.

"Yeah," he said, "he was coming after you, but he didn't kill you did he? No, he killed Lynsey!" He lurched towards Joel with his hands for a second, as if he hated him. "But you know what," he went on, out of control now. "I wish he did kill you Joel! I wish he killed you!"

Joel looked as if he might cry again, any moment. Brendan caught his breath. Then turned to me.

"I need you to find out where he is."

I just looked back at him. The silence, the impotence, the inability to act, seemed to break him. He picked up a stool, and smashed it behind bar. Then grabbed bottles, and threw them, sending glass smashing, and alcohol pouring down in streams. Then turned back to the two of us. His voice was wild.

"NOW!"

* * *

Well, I had to take him somewhere. So I took him round to mine, though not in a romantic way. It was the place where I was crashing so my cover wouldn't blow. Walker's place. It had a few of my things in, but nothing that would trace back to me. Why? Because like he said, it had to be now. Seemed like if he didn't do something, his head would implode. And because I had no freaking clue where Sampson had gone to ground, though I probably could have found out. And because it didn't suit my purposes for Brendan to kill the guy right now. My plans needed a bit more time. Something more considered.

When we got there, I acted it out. Approaching quietly. Sneaking under the window so as not to be seen by the no one who was in there, because the only resident was out here.

But Brendan doesn't work that way. He just walked up and kicked the back door in. I sighed, as he charged in and started to turn the place over, like a bull with a fucking bad temper. I'd have to get that fixed, later.

I watched as Brendan went from room to empty room, opening drawers, scrabbling through them like a desperate man.

"Brendan, he's not here," I said. "Come on."

He looked up at me, irritated. "Well don't just stand there," he said, "Keep lookin'!"

"For what?" I asked him. Which I thought was a reasonable request. But he was beyond reason.

"I don't know, Walker," he said, "anything that tells me where he is. Look!"

"And then what?" I asked him.

"Then I find him, and I kill him," Brendan said, aiming a kick at a perfectly good pair of speakers.

I distracted myself from the damage by making a show of looking out through the blinds for anyone coming, as he carried on rummaging through drawers.

"Come on Brendan," I said, "there's nothing here, let's go!" But then he went still. "What, what've you found?" I asked him.

He sat down on the sofa with something in his hands. Started to leaf through it. "No, no," he muttered.

"Brendan, what is it?"

He looked up. "Sampson didn't mean to kill Lynsey." He threw a diary across to me. Pink, girly thing, with sparkly letters on the front. They spelt out Cheryl. "He was goin' after my sister."

I'd seen it before, of course. I was the one who'd planted it. I'd sensed an opportunity, one way too good to pass up. Grief and guilt and paranoia – they're a heady mix. I decided to work on the last one. I was the bringer of chaos. And I hadn't even got started yet.

He got up and ran out into the street. I followed.

"Brendan, what are you gonna do now?" I called after him.

"Make sure my sister's safe." Strangely, he seemed calmer, more focused, now that he had something to do. Something I'd given him.

"What about Sampson?" I asked him.

"I'll get to him later," he said. And disappeared into the distance.

Which is, of course, exactly what I wanted. He would be tormented, vulnerable, alone. She would be out of the way. And he would be mine, to do with as I wished. In my own time.

There was just one thing I hadn't accounted for. When Cheryl finally left, he went with her. He didn't even fucking call me. That's what really hurt, actually. After everything. All I'd done for him. I had to hear it from Billy the Kid.

"Where's Brendan?" I asked Joel, the next day at the club, looking around. There were a couple of guys there, man and a woman, helping to put the place back in order. Looked like professional cleaners. Brendan must have told him to sort it.

"Gone with Cheryl," he said, eyeing me warily. "Left me in charge." I guess he'd have been smug, if he wasn't so afraid. It would have been an irritation, but I had bigger priorities.

"Gone where?" I asked him.

He shrugged. "Belfast, I guess."

I gritted my teeth through a wave of irritation. So it was brother and sister again, solid in adversity. I was blindsided a bit by that. Last I'd heard, she'd been digging her heels in, and Brendan tearing his hair out. And I liked it when they were fighting, it suited me just fine. But now here they were, back on the same side. And both out of my hands. I mean, I could wait, it wasn't a big problem. I'd been waiting a long time. But I was curious to know what had changed things.

"Thought Cheryl didn't fancy the trip?" I asked him, casual.

He just shrugged again, incommunicative. "I think Ste sorted it."

I stopped. And I'll admit, I felt a sense of surprise. Because here was something I hadn't factored in. An unknown quantity. A power I'd underestimated. A sentimental person might have a name for it.

Love.


End file.
